This Christmas
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Charles and Elsie have 25 days to admit their true feelings. Written for the Chelsie Christmas Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One: O' Christmas Tree (A is for Advent)_

Elsie stood on tiptoes and stretched as far as she could reach, ignoring her blouse which rode up with the movement. There was no one here to catch a glimpse of any bare skin.

"Mrs Hughes!"

She jumped in fright at the sound of her name echoing loudly through the otherwise empty floor. Too late she realised her sudden movement on top of the ladder had made her unbalanced. She reached out to hold onto something, but finding purchase amongst the foliage would only lead to the whole tree toppling. Instead, she made the split second decision to let go.

She'd heard the soft thud of footsteps behind her. She would trust him to catch her.

He let out an audible whomp as she landed in his arms. He held her firmly though, as she knew he would.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he hissed close to her ear. "You could have fallen!" Though his words lacked sympathy for her situation, his arms tightened where they were wrapped around her body; his thick forearms were settled comfortably just under her chest.

"I did fall," she reminded him as he dragged her safely off the bottom rung of the step ladder, placing her feet firmly on the just-polished blue vinyl flooring. "If you hadn't come in here and frightened me half to death, I would have managed without mishap."

He made _that_ grunting noise at the back of his throat. The one that indicated he was irritated.

"What were you doing anyway?" he asked after he'd spun her around to face him. He fingers softly gripped her upper arms; holding her steady as she involuntarily swayed with reaction from her close call. "We have plenty of staff who could adjust whatever bauble you were imagining was crooked. How would it look if you fell? I can imagine the headline now, _Executive General Manager of Granthams Falls along with the Company's Stock."_

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you and marketing could put some sort of positive spin on it," she said as he finally let his hands drop from her waist.

"I'm not a miracle worker."

His tone was dry but light enough for her to unfurl her hand and reveal the decoration she'd held safe this whole time.

"I was trying to place this on the tree," she admitted softly.

He blinked slowly at the glass angel resting on her palm. Like her, he knew it had belonged to Sybil Crawley. Without another word he reverently plucked it from her and climbed the step ladder himself, easily placing it on one of the highest branches.

After he'd climbed down, he squeezed into the space behind the tree and flicked on the wall power outlet, bringing this year's Christmas tree to life.

Wordlessly they folded and stowed the ladder behind the nearest counter, collected their coats and briefcases, and ran through a series of security requirements before departing the store. Once outside, they jostled for position on the pavement to view their handiwork.

Passers-by had gathered already, even at this late hour. The fully trimmed, in the traditional trademark Granthams colours of blue and silver, Christmas tree shone a ray of hope into her heart.

Her companion spoiled the effect. "Perfect placement. The lights are reflecting on the displays in nearly every department on this floor. I'm sure it will tempt many window shoppers to come and get a closer look tomorrow."

She swung around and stared up at him, disbelievingly.

"That tree is a huge expense," he huffed, obviously interpreting her look correctly. "As is the electricity. I need some sort of compensation for our investment."

Pursing her lips she turned to the kerb and hailed the next available taxi. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Carson."

"Goodnight, Mrs Hughes."

She tugged, frustrated, on the seat belt, but before she could clip it into place, her guilty conscience had her relenting. She opened the taxi door. "Charlie, I-" She could see his familiar shape trudging down the street, already well out of hearing range.

"You going or not, love?"

She blinked at the driver and rattled off her address, looking over her shoulder one more time as they pulled out into the traffic. Charles Carson was, as usual, so close yet just out of reach.


	2. The Holly and the Ivy

_Chapter Two: The Holly and the Ivy (B is for baking)_

"Have another one, then." Beryl pushed the plate of biscuits towards Elsie.

"I've already had three, plus the cinnamon rolls earlier," Elsie noted while still graciously accepting another of the Christmas cookies Beryl had wanted her to taste test tonight.

"Well, you've certainly more room to grow than me," Beryl said, gesturing towards her fuller figure. "When they come up with a diet that makes me a foot taller as well as ten pounds slimmer, I'll sign on the dotted line."

Elsie laughed. Any diet she'd been contemplating had gone out the window the moment she walked into her best friend's kitchen. The room had been filled with the scent of yeast, vanilla and cinnamon, tempting her instantly.

"So, no Jos at the opening then?" Elsie dared ask.

"No Jos ever again, thank you very much."

Elsie took a sip of the red wine Beryl had insisted they share. She'd told her tea would not cut it tonight, after finally breaking up with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jos.

"Do we call them boyfriends at our age?" she wondered aloud.

"What do you mean? We're only in early middle age," Beryl insisted, causing Elsie to snort softly. "I know what you mean though. Partner implies you're living together."

Elsie shuddered. Thank goodness Beryl had never made _that_ step with the transport magnate whose money attracted women by the dozen despite his ordinary looks. Unfortunately for Beryl, he always yielded to those attractions willingly. Helping her friend untangle herself from his unfaithful web had been difficult enough. Splitting up shared property would have been a nightmare.

"You can take heart that you're about the only woman he's slept with who's possessed a brain in her head," she said, thinking of all the silly young women who couldn't see the value of a man beyond his nett worth.

"I'll drink to that," Beryl announced.

They clinked glasses, took another gulp of wine each, and remained silent for a long while, caught in their own thoughts suddenly. Elsie's were focused on Charles. She tried with everything she had to imagine him running around with two women at once, but couldn't. He was the type who would be as solid as a rock, no matter what the provocation.

"Although, they're probably more clever than I'll ever be," Beryl mused out loud, interrupting Elsie's contemplation of her colleague. "They at least received some sort of monetary compensation. I got nothing from having that lump in my bed for the last few years."

Elsie grimaced. "Your stock's in your stores, ready for the grand opening in a few days," she pointed out. Tufton Transport _had_ worked overtime to ensure Beryl's shops' shelves were filled, even though the lead up to Christmas was their busiest time of the year. It was probably the only bright side she could conjure from the relationship at this point.

"You won't be late for the party, will you?" Beryl nagged at the mention of her opening.

After inheriting money from her aunt, Beryl had quit Granthams just over two months ago to start up her own business, a specialty kitchenware retail shop. Everything had fallen into place smoother than anyone had expected, and now her friend was about to open the doors to not one, but three stores.

Beryl had come up with the concept for her stores whilst visiting a popular privately owned bookshop. Each Copper Kettle Kitchen store would be two storeys. Upstairs you'd find a cafe where you could indulge in some fine fare. Each delicious treat would be served with its recipe printed out for the consumer. Beryl hoped customers would be inspired enough to want to try to cook or bake at home - after buying the necessary items in the downstairs kitchenware section of the shop, of course.

The grand opening of the London store would include a small party, starting at seven o'clock.

"I'll be here early." Elsie's promise, however, was met with a skeptical look on Beryl's part. She knew Elsie had the tendency to work back late at Granthams.

Unfortunately for Elsie, thinking about working long hours inevitably elicited thoughts of the other Granthams employee who people would class as a workaholic.

Elsie looked away. She desperately wanted to ask Beryl for advice on how to handle him and _that_ situation, but valiantly resisted. It would be rude timing on her part, considering the whole Jos thing.

"Man or male friend sounds slightly ridiculous," she said instead as a diversion.

The distraction didn't exactly work for her, however, as the first thing that sprung into her mind was the way she introduced Charles to others. She always used the term 'work colleague'. 'Friend' might have been more appropriate, she now supposed.

He too, of course, was invited to Beryl's soiree. He hadn't, as yet, told her if he was attending though. And she refused to ask Beryl how he'd replied to the RSVP. (He would have, of course, replied. Charles would never think of ignoring a RSVP like most of the population did nowadays.) Such a query would only raise Beryl's suspicions about the nature of their relationship and again give Elsie the urge to share confidences.

"Have you invited William's father?" she asked. Perhaps a little matchmaking would take her mind off Charles, she decided.

Satisfyingly, Beryl's naturally ruddy expression reddened even more. "Of course. He's the only family Daisy has," she said, defending her decision with a flick of her hand. Then: "It's age, you see. We've come full circle. Back where we started."

Elsie frowned and nibbled on the corner of another biscuit while waiting for Beryl to elaborate.

"As teenagers we crave sex. We're desperate for it. We reach that age where it's expected that you want to perform acrobatic moves between the sheets on a nightly basis. And it's perfectly acceptable to change partners in mid-flight."

"Your sex life in the seventies was obviously quite different to mine," Elsie mumbled into her glass.

"Then, we stop," Beryl went on, ignoring Elsie's dry commentary. "We get married, have babies, concentrate on our careers. Sex is just something on the side."

Elsie raised an eyebrow. "So… This profound discovery of yours is… As we grow older we become desperate for sex again?"

"Yes," Beryl exclaimed definitely. "We now have more time on our hands. We've also got more money and are confident enough to think about previously shameful places like internet dating sites. Half of our friends are dead, and we decide we need to get as much sex as we can while everything works as it should. We're back to being desperate for it. And in turn, we become less discriminating with regards to bed partners."

Elsie picked up a serviette and wiped delicately around her mouth. She could admit, to herself at least, that she was attracted to Charles. It hadn't been something she acknowledged when they'd first started working together all those years ago. She had liked him, but had never thought of him in those terms. Was this growing sexual (and romantic?) attraction she felt towards him simply a symptom of her advancing age?

"And less discrimination leads to Jos Tufton types of disasters."

Elsie lifted her glass of wine above her head. "I'll drink to agreeing that he was a disaster, at least."

They laughed as they sloshed red liquid onto the table after their glasses chinked together.

Soon, Beryl was on another tangent. One which was lighter, less philosophical, and less about men. For this, later, Elsie would say a prayer of thanks. She really wasn't ready to share, even with her best friend, that she thought she was starring in her own Charles Carson type of disaster. Nor did Beryl need to know that she and Charles might have been working towards acting out the next scene of this disaster at the Cooper Kettle Kitchen opening.

 _Made it! No pressure to write a chapter a day or anything! LOL Thanks to Bugs for the Copper Kettle name._


	3. Silent Night

_Chapter 3: Silent Night (C is for cosy fire)_

Elsie was just drunk enough when she got home from Beryl's that she didn't want to go straight to bed. Restless, she made herself that cup of tea finally, switched on her fireplace, and draped herself (with one leg dangling over the side) into her favourite armchair.

Staring into the flickering red flames, she couldn't help but think of Charles.

During her first dinner party after installing the new fireplace, at which he'd been a guest, he'd not been able to hide his disgust.

"It's not a real fire! There's no embers to stoke," he'd complained, stepping closer and running a finger along the new stark white mantle.

"No, I have mains gas," she'd explained patiently. "It just means I can enjoy the ambiance of a fire without worrying about burning down the house."

His eyebrows had shot up and his mouth stretched into a straight disapproving line. "I didn't know you were so…"

"Tacky? Cheap?" she suggested. "I assure you, it wasn't cheap. It's not a poster of a fire, or a big screen TV looping a cosy scene, for goodness sake. It does heat the room."

"It's a _faux_ fireplace. Isn't there enough pretense in this world without you adding to it!"

She'd huffed, exasperated by his attitude. "It's not like you get out and chop wood every morning either, Charlie."

It was Joe Molesley who'd saved them from an all-out argument over such a trivial thing as a heating appliance. "Maybe we should only worry if Elsie posts a selfie standing in front of her fake fire on Twitter, Charlie," he'd suggested lightly, making everyone laugh and moving the conversation along to social media.

That night, and that argument, had seemed more normal to Elsie though. They often fought, but they never stayed angry with each other for long. And for the really important issues, they'd always agreed.

But lately, when they fought, they stayed irritated for much longer, and ended up avoiding each other for much longer, than they would have done in the past. It was causing her nothing but frustration when-

She groaned at her use of that word. _Frustrated._ It was Beryl's fault. She'd put the crazy idea of craving sex into her head.

There was no possible way Charles could be craving sex. Not with her anyway. He never leered at her breasts like some men. Nor had he ever made a sexist remark or suggestion to her in all these years.

He was single though… According to Beryl's logic, he might be now thinking about sex. Comfortable sex, between two friends-

Elsie took another sip of her tea. Charlie probably dreamt of a twenty-something year old to keep him youthful like most men.

Before she could question her motives, she retrieved her mobile from the coffee table, opened the camera app, and thumbed the symbol located in the corner of the screen which inverted the image.

She frowned. Her always pale skin was more lined than she remembered; her blue eyes dull and red rimmed; her hair in desperate need of a cut and colour. Not exactly the successful businesswoman image she tried to portray.

Suddenly, her mobile dinged and vibrated simultaneously, causing her to literally jump in fright and almost drop it into her teacup. Gripping it more securely, she read the notification that flitted across the top of her reflection.

She glanced at the time in the gadget's corner. He was still awake at this time of the night? Was he texting her from bed?

Impatient with herself, she swiped the screen to reply.

"Yes, of course I am going to opening," she typed before hitting send. Charles Carson had a more direct approach to finding out whether or not she'd replied to the RSVP, it seemed anyway. "I just came from Beryl's," she added. "Everything's organised. Exciting! ! ! ! ! !"

While she was wondering if she'd added too many exclamation marks, a new message came through. Its speed was surprising, considering the way the person on the other end complained about the size of his fingers on a mobile's tiny keyboard.

She couldn't answer him immediately. She was unnerved by the way he'd posed his question. Even without him saying the words aloud, she could decipher his tone - casual.

She stood and paced up and down on a strip of carpet, searching her mind for clues. Surely Charlie felt the subtle shift in their relationship too.

She glanced over her shoulder to her offending phone. What if nothing had changed? And anything new and more intimate between them was a figment of her imagination. With a grunt of irritation, she strode over to the table and snatched up the phone.

It pinged again. "Elsie?"

Slowly, she told him yes, it would be nice if he should pick her up beforehand so they could go to the party together.

It looked as though she was going to be Charles Carson's date at the Copper Kettle Kitchen's opening party.


	4. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Xmas

_Chapter 4: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas (D is for dashing)_

Elsie dashed to the front door as soon as she heard her doorbell chime. She didn't want to keep Charles waiting. He was always a stickler for being punctual.

She wasn't prepared for her reaction when she opened the door, however.

"My, don't you look dashing, Mr Carson," she teased, admiring the width of his shoulders and sparkle in his dark eyes.

He wore a pair of tailored pants in a lovely dark royal blue colour, matching them up with a neatly pressed lighter shade of blue dress shirt.

Tonight's event was Christmas themed. Charles would never wear a garishly patterned jumper, she knew, but he'd still made some effort. His touch of the season was a bright tie decorated with red and green gingerbread, candy canes and lollipops.

She patted the tie. "You look good enough to eat," she murmured. It was only when he inhaled audibly that she realised how her innocent comment had probably sounded.

Quickly, to hide her embarrassment, she turned and grabbed her clutch from the hallway table.

"You look lovely, Elsie. But there isn't much Christmas involved."

She looked down. "Oh! I won't be a moment!" She hurried to the bathroom. She'd carefully hung the Christmas scarf she'd planned on accessorising her outfit with on a hook behind the door so that she didn't mark the silken material whilst she applied her makeup.

She didn't wear makeup often, just a touch of foundation and barely visible lip gloss usually. Tonight, however, she'd taken the time to put a little eyeliner and mascara on, as well as daring to add a swipe of ruby red colour on her lips.

The scarf was predominantly red. She didn't wear red often, on account of her very-white skin, and she crossed her fingers it would look okay tonight. As she wore a black dress or black pants suit nearly every day at Granthams, she'd ended up choosing a dark blue jersey dress as the basis of her outfit. She draped the scarf around her shoulders and pinned it together with a silver snowflake brooch she'd bought especially for the occasion.

She checked the mirror and was pleased to see the colours weren't clashing with her complexion too badly.

She was adjusting the scarf and brooch, ensuring they were sitting straight, when it dawned on her that she and Charlie had unknowingly chosen matching outfits. They were both wearing dark blue with splashes of red to display their festive spirit.

She scrunched up her nose at her reflection for a moment longer before eventually returning to the entry and Charlie. There wasn't anything she could do about their colour co-ordination; she couldn't change now. She would just have to hope that neither he nor Beryl mentioned it.

"All ready?" he asked when she joined him again.

"I think so," she replied, touching her hair unnecessarily. Her natural wave made it impossible to wear the trendy styles of young women today, but she'd replaced her usual neat bun with an updo that flaunted wisps of hair hanging loosely around her nape.

Outside, he offered her his elbow to hold as they negotiated the uneven pavement. A taxi waited at the kerb, and she wondered briefly how much of a fare would have been involved if she had not been yet ready.

"I hope all goes well tonight," she babbled, as they drove along, "she must be so nervous."

"Perhaps justified. It's all been terribly rushed."

"What do you mean?"

"Two months? I'm not sure that would be enough time to make everything perfect."

She sighed and turned to stare out at the passing view. Perfection…

Elsie had been married once, a naive teenager, she'd believed in perfection and everlasting love. Experience had soon taught her this could never be the case.

Charles, on the other hand, had never wed. She wondered now if he'd always been searching for a perfect wife.

"There's no such thing as perfection, Charlie," she said softly, still staring out the window as she spoke. She knew he'd heard her, however, when he'd emitted a tiny gruff 'hmph' noise. "We all have our failings in this life."

"Not you," he insisted heartily, causing her to chortle.

"Me, especially."

"Elsie, I-"

The taxi driver, braking suddenly and heavily so that his passengers were flung forward uncomfortably, prevented Charles from finishing his train of thought. By the time they'd fussed with the reason for his unfortunate driving manoeuvre (a car running up the back of another two cars ahead of them) and negotiated their way through the traffic, the subject of their conversation had turned to gridlocks and the general transport woes of the big cities of the world.

Their more intimate discussion would need to wait for another time.


	5. Snowbird

_Chapter 5: Snowbird (E is for eggnog)_

They did arrive safely at their destination, and only about a half an hour late. The taxi had to resort to double parking due to lack of available spaces. They didn't think this was particularly odd until they got closer to the Copper Kettle Kitchen store.

A small crowd had gathered around the entrance. To one side was a group of men, all seemingly wearing matching pairs of tattered jeans teamed with jumpers with hoodies attached. Most were puffing furiously on cigarettes and had cameras slung around their necks.

On the other side was a younger group looking a little disorientated, holding their mobile phones in camera and video mode aloft, eager to catch a glimpse of someone important. Heads bobbed from person to person, making Elsie think of a game of Chinese whispers. She came to the conclusion that not everyone in that section had a clear idea for whom they were queuing.

Older people walked behind the throng, standing on their tiptoes as they passed, looking slightly bewildered before moving on slowly, glancing back now and then just in case some famous face popped up after all.

"Beryl's marketing was obviously more efficient than Granthams'," Elsie noted idly.

"I don't think a small time operation like this warrants such excitement."

Elsie rolled her eyes as Charles's tactless comment. "Try not to say that in those exact words when we go inside."

He stopped before they reached the front door, scanning the untidy group of photographs carefully. "They're paparazzi."

"Are you sure?"

"99.9 percent sure."

She frowned. "Why on earth…"

"Would the paps be at a small time operation like this?"

A look passed between them, with equal amount of anxiousness and confusion.

Charles gripped her elbow firmly. "Come on." He led her into the narrow entrance of the shop which had become an unofficial red carpet. Automatically, she kept her head down and quickened her pace to keep up with Charles's long stride.

A couple of flashes went off, but the word must have gotten around after the first or second photograph, meaning a club of disappointed and disinterested spectators drifted off, murmuring confirmation that she and Charlie were not the stars they were yearning to see.

The front door opened suddenly and a large hand greeted them, grabbing Elsie by the arm and dragging her into the interior of the shop.

"Heavens!" Elsie exclaimed at the same time as Charlie let out a rare expletive.

"Get your hands off her!" he demanded of the black and white uniformed security guard who stood in front of a small sweaty faced redheaded woman.

"Whatever's going on?" Elsie asked her.

She searched over Elsie's shoulder. "Have any of them left then?"

"We can't tell you that unless you tell us how many there were to start with," Elsie pointed out logically.

Over her other shoulder, Charles was locking horns with the security guard. The general gist of the conversation was that he'd been hired by Beryl earlier when the guests to the opening started having difficulty entering the building, and that he wouldn't apologise to Charlie's 'missus' because she was unharmed. Charles retorted that he would not know if he'd hurt her or not because the 'bloody ignorant oaf' hadn't enquired as to her wellbeing.

Elsie's small smile at Charles's jumping to her defence disappeared though at his next comment. "And she's not my missus!"

Elsie swung around and grabbed Beryl's arm, using the excuse of steadying her friend to steady herself.

"Did you put the opening on some sort of dodgy social media site?"

"No, no, that's not the problem. It's because…" Beryl's eyes darted from Elsie over to Charlie and back again. "Well, you'd better come upstairs and see the problem for yourselves, I guess. It will be the easiest way, even though I don't think it's easy…"

Charles, who was already fuming from the words he'd exchanged with the guard, growled with impatience. "You can start at the beginning when we get upstairs, I'd say."

Next, he held out an arm, pointing as if he was a policeman directing traffic, towards the stairs. Both she and Beryl preceded to climb them obediently.

Upstairs, at first glance, the party was going swimmingly. Wait staff threaded their way through the guests, offering Christmas inspired canapes. Fairy lights were strung up around the ceiling and walls of the cafe. Champagne bottles chilled in buckets of ice alongside low tables set out with jugs of eggnog waiting to be poured into mason jars.

Then, Elsie noticed the problem. All attention seemed to be centred upon someone towards the back of the cafe.

"Who…"

"It was Jos, you see."

"You invited him?" Elsie raised her voice, exasperated.

"Tufton?" Charlie hissed at the same time. "What's he got to do with anything?" he added, raising his thick eyebrows for the added sprinkling of reproof.

"He's her friend, you see. They apparently bumped into each other a couple of weeks ago and he got to talking and invited her along. Jos did mention it but he was always full of hot air, so I took no notice. When she turned up, I thought it would be a coup at first. Then Daisy showed me some of the twitter hate she's been getting and next thing I knew the press were at the front door and-"

"They're not the press," Charlie interrupted and Beryl dismissed his nit-picking with a wave of her hand.

"And now she's still here and I had to call the security man in that John knew and it's all just a mess!"

Elsie winced. Beryl was awfully close to tears.

"Well, you've taken a good step there," she said, trying to sound calm. "We'll see if we salvage the rest of the night, shall we?"

"I need a drink," Charles admitted, holding his hands up in the air.

Elsie bit her lip. She could probably do with something for Beryl… Maybe brandy… "We'll have two eggnogs, please, Charlie." As soon as he'd turned his back to pour the drinks, Elsie looped her arm around Beryl's shoulders and squeezed gently. "Now, who on earth is this superstar who's caused all this heartache."

Beryl raised herself onto her toes, her head bobbing comically, a wordless suggestion that Elsie should look in that direction. Following Beryl's lead, Elsie turned towards the back of the cafe again.

"Oh…"

The flock of admirers had left a small gap in front of their object of affection and Elsie now saw immediately who was causing all the excitement.

"Here we go, Beryl." It was Charlie, serving their drinks. Beryl took hers and straight away took a large swig of the alcoholic beverage, grimacing in reaction. Her attention darted from Elsie to Charlie and back again as she waited for him to recognise the gatecrasher.

"Elsie…" he said, leaning closer to her face, which she was sure had paled considerably in the last minute.

Although usually she complained about drinking from mason jars, tonight she poured a generous amount down her throat regardless.

"Elsie?" Charlie prompted her again, his worried frown coming about because of Elsie's lack of response.

Then, he looked up, and his eyes locked with the woman who was causing all the strife.

"Alice…"


	6. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

_Chapter 6: Santa Claus is Coming to Town (F is for Father Christmas)_

Looking across at Alice Neal, Elsie wondered why she'd fussed with her appearance tonight. No extra touch of mascara or colour on her lips could compete with the actress's flawlessly applied makeup. Her bright green dress looked like it had been painted onto her rake thin body. If one could call it a dress. It was more a scrap of material covering the essentials. (The sensibility of keeping warm in this wintry weather was obviously not a significant concern.) Unlike Elsie's whiter than white and freckled flesh, the skin Ms Neal was revealing was tanned and toned.

In a moment of catty jealousy, Elsie stared at the other woman's jawline, trying to determine whether or not plastic surgery had been involved in achieving such a wrinkle-free complexion. Her breasts were surely augmented. No one with a waist so small could be that cup size without the help of a surgeon. They also sat at an alarmingly upright angle. Double sided tape could only account for so much.

Elsie watched helplessly as Charlie's ex's face lit up when she spotted him; her smile seemed genuine. She immediately dismissed her entourage and sashayed (there was no other word for her walk really) across to him.

"Charlie! I heard you'd be here!" she twittered, her talon-like nails bit into his forearm as she leaned forwards to offer her cheek for him to kiss.

Elsie felt, rather than saw, Charlie stiffen and hesitate before finally bending down and placing his lips in the general vicinity of each of Alice's cheeks in turn.

"You know Beryl, I assume," he said politely, "our hostess."

"Yes! Any friend of Jos's and all that."

"Well… Yes." Charles cleared his throat. "And this" -he turned towards Elsie- "is Elsie, my…"

Elsie held her breath, waiting. Elsie, my colleague at Granthams? Elsie, my date for the night? Elsie, my best friend who shouldn't be feeling threatened by the likes of an ageing soap actress?

"Elsie! It's lovely to finally meet you. Charlie's told me all about you."

Elsie frowned and raised an eyebrow. "He has?" she wondered out loud, glancing from the glamorous sex kitten to Charlie and back again. "I didn't think you two were in touch these days…" she drifted off, unsure.

"Oh! You misunderstand me. _My_ Charlie. Charlie Grigg. Not Charlie Carson."

Elsie's smile seemed stuck in place after that comment. It wasn't as if she would have forgotten about the Charlie Grigg drama. The man, claiming he was bankrupt and desperately needed Charles's help, had waltzed into their lives three years ago. It was then that Charles had told her all about his 'wild' past and his previous career as an actor. He'd starred in a handful of episodes of the same nighttime soap that had made both Charlie Grigg and Alice Neal household names in the late 70s.

Grigg, and his drug and alcohol dependency, had sent Charlie into a tailspin for several months until one day the other man simply disappeared. Neither Charlie nor Elsie had been too heartbroken at that outcome.

Charlie had also explained how he'd been madly in love with Alice, so much so that he'd bought an engagement ring, ready to pop the question. He was supremely confident her answer would be 'yes'. After all, they'd been living together for six months, blissfully happy as far as he was concerned. When he got down on one-bended knee, however, she'd refused him. She'd used her career as an excuse. It was an excuse that held no water when she promptly married her other fellow male co-star, Charlie Grigg, two short months later.

It was almost five years later when the soap opera finished its run. Charles Carson by then had become a successful employee at Granthams. And Charlie Grigg and Alice Neal travelled to the United States to try their luck.

Alice hit the big time, headlining in a string of Hollywood movies. At the peak of her career, she divorced her husband and he'd returned to England to make a living from singing on telethons, hosting variety hours, and starring alongside other ex-soap stars in Christmas pantomimes.

"I didn't think you would have been in contact with Mr Grigg since I was fortunate enough to become acquainted," Elsie commented, keeping her voice as grand as her accent would allow.

"I give him money still, you know how it is."

She, Charles and Beryl all squinted. None of them really did know.

"And you know, my boys, the two cheerful Charlies, and I will always share a special bond." She reached out and squeezed Charles's hand intimately. "We basically grew up together. I consider us all family."

"Really? I'm surprised because… How long has it been since you've seen _my_ Charlie?"

"Far too long, Charlie," she replied directly to the man himself, pouting prettily as she did so, and ignoring Elsie completely.

Elsie glanced at Charles, trying to read his expression. For once, she was having a little difficulty. He looked dumbfounded, but was that due to his amazement at Alice Neal's sheer audacity, or because he was so thrilled she felt such a connection. Was he hoping to continue to reconnect after the party?

"Luckily we get to keep up with your comings and goings in the papers," Elsie noted, her tone airy.

Though Alice hadn't had a hit movie in several years, her face still sold magazines by the dozen. Endless stories about what she was eating (or not eating, Elsie assumed), how she exercised, and the inevitable, who she slept with. The last one, if you were to believe the stories, was a long list. Everyone from Mick Jagger to Prince Charles had been rumoured to have shared Alice Neal's bed at some stage.

No one particularly cared about the last part until about two weeks ago, when she'd become the unofficial name linked to the divorce of movie director Hugh 'Shrimpy' MacClare and his wife of forty years and _the_ most beloved actress in UK for almost that long, Susan. The tabloids, internet trolls and just about everyone who had an opinion had taken Susan MacClare's side and labelled Alice a home wrecker. Worse still, a 'Hollywood Home Wrecker'. The public were siding firmly with the actress who'd remained loyal to her mother country all these years, and attacking the woman who'd been tainted with the Hollywood glitz for too long, according to gossip.

Alice Neal's eyes narrowed at Elsie's insinuations. "It's Mrs Hughes, isn't it? Is your husband here?" she asked, looking around. It would be wise to remember actresses didn't get to be A graders without a ruthless streak, Elsie thought.

"Miss Neal? Miss Patmore?" Elsie was saved from needing to come up with a snappy reply regarding the absent Mr Hughes by one of Beryl's staff wanting to know if the pair would go and pose for some official photographs.

After they excused themselves, Elsie gulped down on the remains of her eggnog. Then, biting down on her bottom lip, she turned to face Charles, intending to apologise for her behaviour. She shouldn't have gotten so frazzled and been so rude. Unfortunately before she had even said one word, Daisy suddenly bobbed up in front of them.

"Alfred's not coming!" the young lass screeched.

Alice almost forgotten, Charles and Elsie exchanged a confused look. "I'm sorry to hear that, Daisy," Elsie murmured. "I hope he's-"

"You don't understand! He's Father Christmas. We need a new one, and fast! Mrs Patmore had small gifts wrapped for everyone in the room. She'll be so cross if I don't give them out."

Elsie peeped up at Charles. "Charles, perhaps you could-"

"No!" he practically yelled before she'd even finished posing the question. Some heads turned their way, including Alice's.

"Please, Charlie." Soon Beryl came and added her voice to the request. She'd finished with the photos and had left Alice surrounded by guests taking selfies. Daisy had breathlessly filled her in on the new dilemma as she'd joined them.

"No," Charles repeated, his face growing redder by the minute.

Beryl glanced around the room, running through possible candidates out loud and dismissing each even quicker. "I could ask Ms Neal perhaps?"

"What?" Charles squeaked. "The woman's been nominated for an Oscar, for goodness sake!"

"She should be able to be a convincing St Nick then," Elsie pointed out in a dry tone.

"What about Bill Mason?" he suggested.

"You've not seen the size of the costume," Daisy said. "There's no chance Mr Mason will be able to fit into it."

"This party really is a disaster! First, all this" -he waved his hand in Alice's general direction- "and now you want me to dress up like a clown!"

"Santa, not a clown," Beryl murmured cheekily.

"No!"

Elsie looked across to Alice Neal. It would be nice to take the spotlight off her.

She touched the soft material of Charlie's shirt for a brief moment. "Please, Charlie," she pleaded quietly.

His mouth twisted at the same time as his head, until he was firmly glaring at Elsie. Yet, he next said, "Oh, alright! Let's get it over with!"

Despite Elsie's general discomfort due to Alice Neal's presence, she couldn't help but laugh.


	7. I Believe in Father Christmas

_Chapter 7: I Believe in Father Christmas (G is for gift giving)_

"Why's it taking him so long?" Beryl fretted as she signalled Daisy and the wait staff to do another turn of the room with the food trays. Santa Claus had yet to appear.

Elsie worriedly checked her watch. Charlie _had_ taken an inordinately long time to slip into a red costume.

"Perhaps Bill could…" She stopped short at that idea. Bill Mason was currently charming their Hollywood star. As much as Alice Neal's presence was irritating Elsie, she knew that if the woman was to leave, so would most of the other guests.

"Maybe you could go in and-"

"Me? Shouldn't we send one of the men."

"You won't see him naked, for goodness sake! He only needs to slip the suit over the top of his clothes!"

"Of course," she stuttered, handing her drink to Beryl. She continued to feel foolish the whole time she negotiated the stairs to the ground floor. She was an executive of one of England's most successful department stores. She could surely handle one grumpy man clad in a Santa suit.

Carefully weaving her way around the shop's displays so as not to topple any of them over in the semi-darkness, she tentatively called out Charlie's name when she reached Beryl's office door.

"Charlie?" she called again, and knocked for good measure when she got no response. "Can I come in? Are you decent?" she added, her face flushing again.

Before she could panic further, the door swung open. Barely acknowledging her arrival, however, Charles turned and sat back down in the chair. The chair was placed beside a table which had been shoved against the wall to make way for a stack of yet to be opened boxes of stock. She screwed her face up at a coffee cup holding a thimble full of murky brown dregs in the table's corner. Laid out also on the surface was a pile of invoices held down by a large calculator. Other stationery was strewn about; pens, rulers, and highlighters.

Charles sat in the centre of the mess, wearing the red outfit, and clutching the fake white beard.

"You're not unwell, are you, Charlie?" she asked, anxious.

"Not physically, no. But do you think… Elsie… I'm not particularly good at anything, am I?"

Elsie bit her bottom lip hard. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm an old fool... My acting career was over before it began."

She pursed her lips. The only foolish one around here was that woman upstairs, bringing back distressing memories and giving everyone an inferiority complex. Even she had been feeling frumpy and fat next to the slick star earlier, and how ridiculous was that, she thought now.

"And Granthams is going broke."

"That's not your fault! The GFC and-"

He cut her off before she could finish her defence. "Beryl is more successful than I am. She has three shops and-"

She took her turn to cut him off: "Wait a moment. This is Beryl's _opening_. She doesn't have any profitable stores just yet; she simply _has_ stores." She tucked her chin onto her chest, getting stern with his display. "I wish her every success, of course, but when Copper Kettle Kitchen is celebrating its 40th year, we'll compare our situations again, shall we?"

He eyed her warily. "Acting… I was rebelling against my father. Rep theatre was as far away from working in an office during the week and playing cricket on the weekend as I could get."

She remained silent, waiting for him to finish.

"And now, I basically work in an office during the week and play cricket on the weekend. Well… Umpire these days," he added sheepishly.

She laughed, his humour a sign he was shaking off his melancholy. "Would it be so bad to be your father?"

He shrugged. "He wasn't an evil man. No beatings or anything dramatic. He was just…"

"Distant?" she guessed.

"Yes. My mother was there and he wasn't. Even though he was. If you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean. Only too well."

He lifted his gaze then, his expression one of sympathy for her plight suddenly instead of sadness over his own.

"You're a good man, Charles," she whispered, holding his hand. "Now, how about you come out and show me and the crowd some of these acting skills you've kept hidden for so long?"

He chuckled and stood, dragging the hat and beard over his face, before hoisting the bag of gifts over his shoulder with a flourish.

"Has Father Christmas got a gift in there for me then?" Elsie asked as they clomped up the stairs towards the general hubbub of the party.

"No."

Elsie stopped, almost at the top of the staircase, and turned around to raise one eyebrow at Charles. As he was several steps lower, it meant their faces were almost level. "No?" she repeated with a huff, hands on hips.

"No. You, my dear, will receive your gift from Santa on Christmas Day. And it won't be some cheap trinket that's handed out as a gimmick, I assure you."

She smiled. This was _her_ Charlie. The one whose words sounded pompous and arrogant at first, until you took a moment to really think about what he said and realised he was actually one of the sweetest men you knew.

She reached out and squeezed his hand briefly. "Oh, and by the way, you're particularly good at quite a few things, Charlie. Perhaps I'll ask Father Christmas to gift you a list," she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, Charles blinked away the tears that gathered in his eyes.

"Show time?"

He nodded. "Show time, Elsie."


	8. All I Want for Christmas is You

_Chapter 8: All I Want for Christmas is You (H is for holly and ivy)_

Elsie checked the time. It was almost half-seven. As she'd been up later last night due to the opening, Elsie thought she should head home while she had the chance. Extended hours for the Christmas period started next week.

Her cursor was hovering over the _shut down_ command when an email pinged into her in-box. It was from Beryl. Her friend had sent her a file containing photographs of the party.

Fifteen minutes later, by then flushed and agitated, she was still flicking through the photos. There were literally hundreds of them and she appeared in several. Her appearance in the pictures wasn't the thing that was upsetting her. The thing that had her feeling flustered and out of sorts was the _way_ she appeared in those photos with Charles.

She looked rather normal in the ones where she'd posed beside Beryl or Daisy or Bill. Even the ones where she'd had to stand next to Alice Neal (where she'd seemed pale and plain in contrast to the other woman's Vogue covergirl glamour) weren't worrying her. There was the occasional closed eyes or double chin from not being ready for the person snapping, but overall she wasn't completely ashamed for Beryl to use any of them for marketing purposes.

The photos with Charles in them, however…

Looking at herself from this angle, she was so obvious. Her eyes were continually resting upon him, shining in his direction. She saved her most sparkling smiles for him. In most of the shots, they were standing far too close to be deemed appropriate.

Elsie could deny it no longer. This was, she thought, photographic evidence that she was completely and utterly in love with Charles Carson.

She closed the file Beryl had sent, shut down her computer finally, and paced, wearing out the carpet beside her desk. She'd need to sort out what she was going to do, considering.

She wasn't sure if she could continue to work with Charles. She'd obviously felt this way for a long time, but being aware of her feelings made everything seem changed.

After a brief knock, the door to Elsie's office swung open. It was Ivy, one of the junior clerks.

"I'm off, Mrs H. I'll finish making everything festive in the morning." The young girl was referring to her duty of decorating the executive offices this year.

Dismissing Ivy with a wave of her hand, she also grabbed her coat and bag.

As she walked past the area surrounding Ivy's pod and desk, she slowed down, noting the piles of decorations. Most of the budget for decorations had been spent in the shop floor, and Ivy had been collecting broken and old tangled pieces to see if she could salvage anything for their smaller area here upstairs. Twisted tinsel, broken baubles and wonky stars were laid out on the carpet beside Ivy's chair. Ivy had set out a ball of string, scissors, tape and a stapler next to them.

Elsie peeped into a box sitting beside the paraphernalia. It was a collection of plant cuttings that Ivy somehow must have acquired; a grapevine wreath, holly and laurel branches.

"I've not ever made one from scratch, Mrs H," Ivy had said earlier.

At the time, Elsie had assured the young girl it was easy. She'd made hundreds over the years.

Before she knew it, Elsie found herself setting out the necessary tools to make a Christmas wreath right there and then. She needed something other than the photos to distract her before she left.

She laid the laurel branches out into a pretty bunch and began to tie them onto the grapevine wreath.

 _A picture is worth a thousand words._

She tucked the ends of the branches tidily and trimmed the bottom of a holly branch, choosing the ones with the most berries.

 _The camera never lies._

She tied the holly, and that was as far as she managed to get before pricking her finger on one of the plant's spiky leaves.

"Ivy, I was thinking-" Charles broke off after he looked up from the paperwork he was reading as he entered the office. Obviously he then saw it was Elsie who was sitting at the desk.

"I used to be quite good at this when I was young," she told him in a wobbly tone, ripping a Klennex from a box on Ivy's desk. "But apparently I've lost my touch." She held up her finger where the blood was oozing out.

He strode over and lifted her hand for closer inspection. "You're supposed to wear gloves," he chided with a grunt before exiting the room.

She stood, still holding the tissue to stem the bleeding, when he returned, a moment later.

He looked exactly the same as he always did. And yet he looked completely different to her. How annoying this falling in love thing was going to be…

He was peeling open a plaster and rambling on about Christmas rosters and overtime and casual staff. All she could think about was that he was cradling her hand in his large and capable one while he ever so gently applied a sticking plaster. Perhaps he might even lift her hand to his mouth and kiss the spot that she'd wounded.

She bit her lip until it nearly bled as well. Her romanticism was making her soft in the head.

"Mrs H!"

Both she and Charles jumped apart guiltily at the sound of her name. It was Ivy.

Following the young girl, and the reason for her return to the office Elsie would presume, was a visitor - Alice Neal.


	9. Baby It's Cold Outside

_Chapter 9: Baby It's Cold Outside (I is for ice)_

"She has ice in her veins, that one."

"I know. What do you think she wants?" Elsie asked as she walked over to a table in the corner of the coffee shop where she and Beryl had agreed to meet. A coffee shop which was away from both Granthams and Copper Kettle Kitchen.

Elsie had been sitting on a stool near the cafe's front window, looking out at the view of commuters scurrying to make their way into work on time, when Beryl had arrived and insisted on relocating. "Me legs dangle in those silly seats," she'd complained.

"Why turn up at Granthams, at all places?" Elsie went on while she carefully set her cappuccino down so as not to slop any of it over the cup's lip and into the saucer before lowering herself into a seat beside her friend. "Surely she should be trying to keep out of the limelight a little. How did she think she'd remain anonymous? Since the tree went up, there's been a gathering in front of the store each night, even after we're closed for business. Viewing the Granthams' tree is featured on every trip adviser-type site in the world!"

"Elsie, love, I don't think she's hiding from her fans or the press. She wants to get her name and face out there. At her age, all publicity is good publicity."

Elsie skimmed some chocolate powder off the top of her coffee with her teaspoon, thinking of the free publicity she'd seen in the link Beryl had emailed her last night. Beryl had sent it about two hours after Elsie had texted her friend the news that Alice Neal had turned up at the store out of the blue. The link had taken Elsie to the Instagram account of the 'real' Alice Neal and a photograph showing a plate of grilled fish and vegetables against the backdrop of an elegant table setting. The actress had included several hashtags. Their lack of spaces had made them momentarily difficult to read, until the penny dropped and Elsie was able to translate: _catchingupwitholdfriends morethanafriendreally singlefriendsonohateplease lovinglondon goodtobehome reconnecting secondchances_

"The question is, what does she want with Charlie Carson?" Beryl prodded the Danish the attendant had just placed in front of her suspiciously with a fork. "I have some theories."

Elsie spread her slice of toast with marmalade as she waited for Beryl to continue. She knew Beryl would tell her all the gory details of her theories whether Elsie wanted to know them or not.

"Number one, it's to hide the affair with the still technically married Shrimpy MacClare. But this one is the weakest of all my theories. The affair, or the rumour of it at least, is already public and harming her popularity. So there's no real reason to hide it, unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless there's yet another married man on the horizon."

Elsie nibbled on the end of her toast. "You're right, that's a weak theory. Next."

"Okay, number two is that it's to hide being gay."

Elsie blinked, confused. "You think Charlie is gay?"

Beryl's laugh become a choke until she spat a tiny amount of coffee out into her serviette. "Imagine his face if I told him I thought he'd switched teams." Then, lowering her voice: "I meant Alice Neal, silly."

"You think _she's_ gay?"

"It's the oldest trick in the celebrity handbook. You gallivant around with members of the opposite sex publicly, while privately you're in bed with someone of the same sex."

Elsie chewed thoughtfully. Had the press got the wrong end of the stick and it was Shrimpy MacClare's _wife_ Alice had been involved with? Susan MacClare's life had always seemed a little too fluffy and perfect. Was she hiding her secret love life from her adoring public?

"But why," Elsie wondered, "in this day and age, surely she could just come out. It's not like it's a big deal anymore."

Beryl shrugged. "It is to some of the older generation, I guess," she said, apparently refusing to acknowledge she and Elsie were probably part of that older generation.

"Maybe... But I'm not convinced. Number three?"

"Number three reason someone would want to sleep with Charles Carson is that they're after some sort of financial gain."

"I'm sure she'd have more money than all of us put together," Elsie scoffed.

"True. But there is other ways she can financially gain from dating Charlie. The tabloids could suddenly note that she's settling down, with someone out of the industry, thus leading to job offers."

Elsie considered that idea and realised it wasn't out of the realms of possibility. "Okay, any others?" she prompted Beryl to continue.

"There is one obvious reason a woman would want to go out with Charles Carson," Beryl said quietly. "If she was in love with him."

Elsie looked down and made a performance of wiping crumbs from her lap.

"I can only imagine that Alice Neal is in love with herself though," Beryl continued, "so I'm back to the final and most obvious reason." She paused dramatically. "Sex," she finally announced. "Like I said the other night, we're all desperate for it. And Charlie isn't bad looking, I suppose."

Elsie snorted. "I won't tell him you said that."

"Although, he's far too tall for me. I wouldn't like to be craning me neck the whole time."

"I don't mind tall men. Actually, I quite like it really. The whole sense of security it gives you." Elsie forced herself to stop babbling and grab her cup to gulp down the end of her coffee before she could reveal anything further.

"Don't worry." Beryl patted Elsie's hand. "I can't imagine Charles Carson wanting that scraggy thing anyway."

"I'm only worried for Charlie's sake," she said. It was only half a lie, she told herself before she pushed her plate away. Her appetite had suddenly disappeared. "Sex... It seems the most likely theory, I'll admit."

Beryl tilted her head and frowned. "You shouldn't listen to me. I probably just have sex on the brain."

And now so did she, Elsie acknowledged. Though, like Beryl, she was finding it difficult to imagine Charlie having sex with Alice. Every time she tried to picture the blonde woman's tanned and supple skin tangling with Charlie's, she couldn't.

Abruptly, Elsie scraped her chair back and went over to a table near the counter. There, she poured a glass of water from the jug the cafe provided free of charge, swamping it down in one hit. Noting the jug was almost empty but for two still-solid ice cubes (this was a ridiculous new trend, she thought, given the English weather at this time of the year, but in this situation she thanked their hipster madness and decided to take advantage), she tipped the jug once more until the cubes rolled onto a tray. Quickly scooping one up, she used it to stroke along the nape of her neck, hoping the ice would soon cool her down.

When Elsie sat back down, Beryl stared. "I thought you'd finished with hot flushes?"

Elsie waved her hand around noncommittally. There was no need to tell Beryl the real reason she was heating up. She was feverish because she also had sex on the brain. Only it was sex with her taking a much more active role. In fact, the image of Charlie's strong body above her own pale curves ( _his large hands holding her hips, his head bent so his hot mouth remained latched onto her nipple, her nails biting into the skin of his buttocks, urging him on..._ ) would probably haunt her for quite a while. The rest of the day, at least.


	10. 2000 Miles

**_Chapter 10: 2000 Miles (J is for jingle bells, or just bells in general)_**

 _"Oh, and I hear wedding bells are imminent. How lovely. Pass on my good wishes to Charles for me until I can talk to him personally."_

A short sharp bell sound came through the speakers located above her in the cabin before the bored voice of a flight attendant informed the plane's passengers they'd be landing soon. As such, Elsie was to put her seat into the upright position, open her window shade the whole way, secure her food tray, and fasten her seatbelt.

She did all these things automatically. Her entire focus remained on those couple of sentences that Robert Crawley had nonchalantly uttered when she'd finished up a call with him that morning.

She'd stared at the telephone receiver for the longest moment, only hanging up when the first few bars of Jingle Bells played on her mobile, indicating she'd received a new text message. Young Ivy had changed her ringtones for the season, but now she wondered if she should delete the up tempo traditional song. She hardly felt festive.

 _Wedding bells…_

Her stomach dropped and she repeated Robert's words over in her head once more. The only explanation was that Charles must have again asked Alice to marry him, and this time she'd not hesitated.

It wasn't merely a shock to Elsie because of her newly discovered feelings for her co-worker, but because it was so unlike Charles. He was the least impulsive person she knew. Apparently, however, Alice evoked his spontaneity if he'd asked her, his first love, to be his bride after such a short reacquaintance.

At the time, Elsie had thought Robert must have it all wrong.

She'd picked up her mobile and scrolled through her messages. There had been nothing new from Charles, however.

She'd placed Charles's email address into her search box and hit enter. But all the messages she found from the last week were work related. She hadn't missed any announcement.

She would admit, if Charles had been trying to tell her about any impending marriage to Alice, Elsie hadn't given him any opportunity. It was true, in fact, that he'd been attempting to meet with her since last Thursday, but she'd continually fobbed him off with an excuse. Between being irritated about his night out with Alice, and the fact that she now viewed him as more than just a friend, she had been actively avoiding him.

But she never imagined he'd become engaged without telling her first-

She broke off from that train of thought. It was quite ridiculous, after all. If he was engaged to a woman, he didn't need to ask Elsie for permission first, only the bride-to-be's.

Her attention had been diverted briefly away from Charlie's upcoming nuptials when she'd received a telephone call from their Yorkshire store. Thomas Barrow had been having staff problems there for a few months now, and before she could change her mind, she'd booked a flight to Leeds Bradford airport. Hopefully, once face to face, she could sort out their problems.

If only she had as much confidence that she'd be able to sort out her personal life.

It was her own fault, she conceded. She'd been keeping Charlie at a distance for so long now, it had become a habit.

The year she started at Granthams she'd been newly divorced. Her relationship with Joe hadn't ended with a spectacular argument or an insurmountable difference of opinion. Instead their marriage had petered out with a whimper which, at the time, had made her even more wary of letting anyone get close. The friendship she'd developed with Charles was gradual. She had let him in little by little, and she'd (stupidly it would seem now) thought both their hearts had been mended by their mutual gentle devotion.

As Elsie had only packed the one carry-on bag, it was a mere ten minutes after departing the airplane that she, listlessly, was making her way through the airport and towards the taxi rank. Whilst waiting patiently in the rank's queue her mobile began to play a different tune - Jingle Bell Rock - which apparently, thanks again to Ivy, was her new incoming call ringtone.

Before she swiped her finger across the screen to answer, however, she read the name that flashed upon it. Her lips twisted but she couldn't avoid him forever, she supposed…

"Hello."

"Elsie! Where are you? Ivy told me you've flown to Yorkshire! I'm assuming she has it all wrong and-"

"No, she's quite correct," Elsie interrupted.

"What?" She could hear the incredulity in his tone. "It's almost Christmas and-"

"It's a one hour flight, Charles. I can be back again if there's some sudden emergency with the London store's nativity scene," she snapped.

Her sarcasm remained intact even on the mobile phone, it seemed. "I could have been consulted before you went traipsing across the country, at least," he barked. "I could have helped-"

"You've not been keen to help Thomas Barrow up to this point," she reminded him dryly. "Leave it to me. I'm sure your plans with the-" She paused. Even with her anger at him and the world at large, she found it difficult to utter the word 'wedding'. Childishly, to say it out loud would make it real.

"Look, Charles, my taxi's here, and I must be in a black spot because you're dropping in and out," she said, even though she could hear him as clear as a bell. She had never lied to him before, not even a white lie, and she blanched physically at the slippery slope she'd willingly placed herself upon. Jealousy was a curse, so they said.

"Elsie…" She wondered for a moment if her bell ringer was actually true and their call had dropped out, but finally he spoke again. "Promise me you'll call me when you get to a landline at the Leeds store,'" he said in a tone so gruff that, if she'd been thinking clearer, it would have set off alarm bells immediately.


	11. Please Come Home for Christmas

_Chapter 11: Please Come Home for Christmas (K is for kids)_

Elsie and Thomas Barrow had spent over an hour behind closed doors. He was quite a good manager when it came to customer relations, but he lacked the necessary communication and diplomacy skills when dealing with suppliers and supervising staff. Elsie had noticed he insisted on treating his underlings like children, and she was concerned he enjoyed creating a schoolyard environment just a little too much.

"If you want to run an effective business, you have to ensure you are professional at all times. It's not a game. People's livelihoods are depending on those doors staying open. If you continue to encourage a gossipy mentality, and favouring childish behaviour, you'll get nothing but an unpleasant atmosphere in return. If you radiate distrust and a superior nature, people will ignore you and go their own way until you have zero input into the way the store operates. You have to learn to respect to earn respect."

Meanwhile, at this precise point in time, she was not following her own advice. She was on her way to her next meeting, with the new Merchandising and Marketing Manager Thomas had recently hired, when her mobile rang again and she promptly rejected the call upon reading the caller ID. She'd decided to act like a child and not speak to Charles at all.

She wasn't being completely irresponsible, she told herself. She had spoken to Anna earlier and left strict instructions that if there was any major problem in London to contact her immediately. Charles had now called her six times since she'd arrived at Granthams Yorkshire though, and each call involved some minor detail Anna could have easily handled. She couldn't rely on Charles to not overact, it seemed.

Her inner voice whispered that she was also acting like a spoilt child when it came to the news Robert Crawley had passed on. The mature thing would be to just ask Charles and be done with it. Of course, there was the possibility he would then confirm her worst fears and she wasn't yet ready to face those.

Arriving at Granthams' newest executive employee's office, Elsie was taken aback. Charles had insisted they couldn't afford any type of refurbishment of her office but its decor had still been changed around in all sorts of nifty ways. Aside from the normal furnishings, Phyllis Baxter had added personal touches of flair all over the suite while still complementing the store's corporate colours.

A dreamcatcher hanging alongside a leadlight butterfly, a LED lamp in the shape of an elephant, a light grey mohair scarf tossed over the back of one of the visitor's chairs, cushions printed with inspirational quotes perched on the other, a fabric colour swatch beside the latest bestselling celebrity cookbook on the low coffee table that separated them. It all sounded gaudy, but somehow it came together to look perfect.

Just like the woman herself. Phyllis Baxter smiled and greeted Elsie warmly, exuding a stylish manner that reminded Elsie of someone who might have previously worked for an exclusive European fashion house instead of a vintage clothes store in York. Elsie had called around, and rather than a chic boutique she had expected for a Granthams manager to have as a former employment, the store had more of a cheap second hand vibe to it.

Thomas, again, had created unnecessary angst amongst the Leeds staff when he'd appointed an apparently inexperienced family friend instead of advertising the position through the correct channels. Elsie intended to carefully emphasise Granthams' required probationary period with the woman so as to ensure there'd be no misunderstandings if Elsie thought it necessary to shorten the end date of their employment contract.

Elsie was still running through some everyday housekeeping items attached to the job with Ms Baxter when her mobile next began to ring. She glanced at the caller ID and then resolutely ignored it, letting it vibrate across the desk

"You can get that if-"

"No, it's fine." Then: "Maybe I could send up my Merch and Marketing Manager, Joe Molesley, for a couple of days before the end of year sales."

"Of course, but I've already had to order stock for that period," Phyllis pointed out, "to ensure timely delivery."

Elsie raised an eyebrow. Ms Baxter was quite correct, of course.

"But I'd be happy to take any advice he could offer if I should have overstocked in any area, plus I'd be grateful for tips for the Easter period," Phyllis added so smoothly that Elsie wondered if she should bother bringing up the terms of her employment contract at all. Even in the short time Elsie had to observe her, Ms Baxter appeared sensible and competent. Everything her predecessor, Sarah O'Brien, was not.

"It must be very busy in London though, at this time of the year," Phyllis went on when Elsie remained silent. "Perhaps you could ask him to expect my call? Or we could Skype or-"

Elsie's snort of laughter made Phyllis hesitate. "Sorry, the idea of Joseph Molesley managing to work out how to place a video call is quite amusing," Elsie explained. "Both he, and our Financial Manager, Mr Carson, are famously technically challenged."

Phyllis gave her a serene smile. "I might be able to offer my counterpart some advice in that area then. It's good to know that you can still learn throughout your entire career."

Thinking and talking about Charles, however, did remind Elsie of just how childish she was behaving.

She plucked up her mobile, but Phyllis wouldn't dream of letting Elsie leave the building to return her phone calls. Instead, the new manager insisted on visiting the shop floor to check on things whilst Elsie took advantage of the empty office.

Before Phyllis left though, she took a moment to invite Elsie to dine with her that evening. "I know what it's like to be alone, especially when you're staying overnight somewhere for business. And don't think you're imposing on me, I'd actually enjoy the company. I've been too busy..."

Elsie grimaced, wondering how much her friendship with Thomas was affecting Ms Baxter's ability to make friends in the city.

"You don't have family here?" she asked. "A husband? Children?"

"No, I… No, no one. I… I live a little north of the city too. I can always direct you to a friendly quaint village B&B if you'd like."

After thanking the other woman sincerely, Elsie ran through her emails and quickly replied to all those that she could once Phyllis left. Then, she read her text messages and listened to her voice messages (most were from Charlie) before calling her section's second in charge.

She'd just hung up from Anna, who'd reassured her that there was not one single crisis in the HR department, when someone knocked on Ms Baxter's office door.

A girl, seemingly too young to be working but dressed in a Granthams service uniform, entered balancing a tray. "Ms Baxter said you seemed a little jiggered, Mrs Hughes, so she sent me up here with a pot of tea. If you'd prefer coffee though, you can just tell me, I won't be offended."

After dismissing the child, once she'd assured her the tea smelt and sounded heavenly, she drank a good strong cup of the beverage before finding the courage to dial Charles's number.

It rang for longer than she'd anticipated and eventually went to his message bank. Elsie left one, replying to a couple of his queries as well as praising Ms Baxter and putting Charlie's mind to rest on that subject at least.

Half an hour later, Elsie had removed her heels and tucked her legs beneath her, taking full advantage of Phyllis's plush chairs and relaxed atmosphere. Her phone was charging in the corner as she continued to reply to emails via a laptop.

She never bothered to look up when the door opened and closed again after another brief knock, assuming it was Phyllis returning to her office.

However, when the cushion beneath her lifted from the arrival lowering themselves into the chair beside her, she adjusted her line of sight and visibly gulped in shock.

"You must be kidding," she murmured directly into the London Finance Manager's, Charles Carson, face.


	12. A Holly Jolly Christmas

_Chapter 12: A Holly Jolly Christmas (L is for laughter)_

Elsie breathed in deeply, savouring his heady aroma before letting out a small snort of laughter as she exhaled. She must have been completely immersed in her work to have ever thought it was Phyllis Baxter, with her floral perfume, who'd entered the room. She should know his crisp scent of citrus intermingled with vanilla and exotic spices anywhere.

She chuckled again, wondering also how she could have possibly thought the younger woman's sleek catlike body could bounce her around and tip her off-centre in the chair like his bulk had when he'd sat?

"I don't think this is very funny," he grouched immediately, even though he had no idea as to why she was laughing. "Why aren't you answering my calls? How could you just ignore them like that? What if there was an emergency?"

"And what if there was?" she retorted with another laugh at the way he was peppering her with his questions, giving her no chance to reply. "What if there was a sink hole that Granthams fell into? What if a tsunami washed the store away? Or a gang of thieves stole our entire stock? You should definitely call me in an emergency," she said with an extra dose of sarcasm. "That would make more sense than instead, say, calling the relevant authorities," she added.

He frowned and pinched his lips together while emitting an annoyed grumble from the back of his throat, which she ignored. "What are you really doing here, Charles?" she asked, exasperation once again creeping into her tone. "You've been sending me messages that I shouldn't have left London at this time of the year, and then you turn up in Leeds too!"

He struggled to sit up straighter, but the lush cushions tipped him off balance once more and he ended up returning to the same position, slouched snugly by her side. Their gazes held for a beat until, grunting, he started with his escape from the chair's clutches again, whilst babbling: "I wanted to come meet the new manager. Her resume has holes the size of the Grand Canyon, and" -he see-sawed wildly- "it's a very important time of year, and..." He gripped the edge of the seat to push himself up, but only succeeded in raising his bottom off the chair for the briefest moment before crashing back down.

"And you'd only scare her," she finished for him as the aftershock of his battle with the chair bobbed her around like a cork on the ocean. "She's doing fine."

"And I want to know what it is you're hiding from me." Her head wobbled as she followed his progress. He'd rolled out onto all fours on the square rug in front of the chairs. "There!" he almost shouted when he unfolded himself to eventually rise into the standing position, his knees cracking loudly the entire time.

Her eyebrows lifted. "I wonder if that's an authoritative command for me to answer your question or a triumphant cry that you're out of the chair," she speculated aloud. "What on earth could I be hiding?" she asked as she jumped up to join him on the carpet square, easily and in a much more graceful fashion.

His face reddened a darker shade at her agility, but he answered anyway. "Some secret," he said, mullish.

Her hands went to her hips, and she stepped forwards. He had a cheek, she thought. He was the one who'd not told her about the wedding. "What secret am _I_ keeping?" she demanded once they stood toe to toe.

"If I knew that, it wouldn't be a secret!"

"You're the one who-"

She got no further. The door to Phyllis Baxter's office swung open, interrupting her mid-tangent.

"I don't know but Ms Baxter has offered to-" Joeseph Molesley stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Elsie glanced from the man who'd just entered to the one with whom she'd been arguing. "You both came?" she asked, her shrill question rhetorical, considering.

"You-"

She cut off Charles's explanation immediately. "I come down here to work, and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum follow me?" she cried. "You didn't think I could handle it without needing to call in the Calvary?"

Joe's mouth fell open. His head swivelled from one of his superior's angry face to the other and back again. "Who's who then?" he asked.

Both she and Charles shook their heads, baffled.

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum... Who's who?"

Charles growled, swung around and grabbed a handful of Joe's shirt to push him back out the door.

Charles had taken only one step back in her direction when the office door immediately opened again. "Are you okay, Elsie?" Joe asked, his nervous glance flicking up to Charles for the briefest moment before he defiantly lifted his chin.

Elsie waved her hand reassuringly until Joe nodded and closed the door behind him with a 'call me if you need me'.

She'd been smiling, feeling warmed by Joe's sincerity and steadfastly ignoring Charles's indignant bluster and mumbling beside her ( _'as if I'd raise a hand_ ') when Charles suddenly stepped close. So much closer that she had to crane her neck uncomfortably when his next question was whispered: "You'd tell me, Elsie, if you had another scare?"

She blinked slowly. "Scare?" She'd lowered the volume of her voice to match his.

Instead of elaborating with words, his eyes drifted down until they settled on her breast. Not in a sexual way. His focus stayed on her left breast in particular until she was sure the biopsy scar was burning from his gaze. "Is it… Have you found another lump?"

Elsie shook her head furiously. "No! No, of course not. It's fine. I'm fine." She wasn't fine. She still didn't know if this man who had her emotions swinging every which way was marrying another woman. "I haven't found another lump. I'm not sick." She might have had a fighting chance with being physically sick, however. A broken heart wouldn't respond to treatment as easily.

His shoulders lowered and his breaths, which he must have been holding without either of them realising, raggedly returned to normal.

He smiled then. One of his rare bright smiles that lit up a room and stole _her_ breath away. "It can't be that bad then," he said. "We'll go out and…" He stopped mid-sentence. His complete attention suddenly riveted on something over Elsie's shoulder.

She swivelled her neck, following his line of sight.

"What…" She twisted to see the expression on Charlie's face. He was clearly horrified. "What is that monstrosity?"

She tried to swallow down her giggle. "An elephant," she informed him, her tone prim.

He stepped back dramatically, as if the LED lamp was about to raise its trunk and charge them down. "An elephant?" he repeated weakly, raising one unsure eyebrow.

"Obviously! An elephant," she said again. When she felt a shudder ripple through his body, she gave in to her loud gulps of laughter.


	13. Do They Know It's Christmas?

_Chapter 13: Do They Know It's Christmas (M for music)_

Charles was making Elsie's heart sing with his deep laughter filling Phyllis Baxter's eclectically decorated office when someone cleared their throat from the doorway.

They turned breezily. It was Thomas Barrow.

"Mr Carson, I was wondering if you had a few minutes spare so we could meet?" he asked, his formal greeting one that Elsie wasn't quite convinced was borne from respect.

Charles instantly sobered - his brow furrowing, his mouth thinning. He wasn't quite ready to believe Thomas had completely changed his tune either, she thought. She knew it was only a few short months ago that he'd rejected all overtures Charles had made with regards to advice. "Mrs Hughes and I haven't yet-"

"Oh, nevermind me," she said before Charlie could make any sort of excuse. His Leeds counterpart needed all the help he could get. "I've got plenty to keep me occupied," she insisted.

With a jerky nod, Charles followed Thomas, but in the doorway he paused and let the younger man go on ahead.

"You're not flying back tonight, are you?" he asked Elsie.

"I wasn't planning on it…" Then, suddenly panicked, her eyes flew to his face. "Were you?"

"No, no," he replied quickly.

Without thinking, she gave him a crooked grin. "Well… Maybe we could…"

Thomas's voice drifted in from the hallway. He'd taken a call on his mobile, and was complaining (far too loudly and much too indiscreetly) about lack of time because of other people's procrastination.

Charles's face reddened so Elsie hastily spoke, all business once more. "I offered some advice earlier," she whispered, "but it would be nice if you could reiterate what I said."

"How do I know what you said?" Charlie growled. "I could give him the opposite advice!"

Comically, they both peeped around the doorway simultaneously to check how far away the subject of their musing was standing.

Thomas continued his conversation on his phone, quite a few feet away. He was now holding an unlit cigarette between his teeth and it wobbled around as he spoke. She knew this habit would not strike a chord with Charles.

"Just be fair as well as firm."

Charlie jerked his head back and pouted. "When am I not fair?"

Her only answer was to pat him on the arm. "Just be yourself," she advised in his most calming voice. "He'll only be suspicious if you start singing his praises anyway."

Charles stared down at her hand until she felt she should snatch it away, sliding it and its partner behind her back, out of temptation's way. "Well, I'll see you later and-"

"You'll tell me what's bothering you, won't you?"

She flushed. Her confidence abruptly evaporated when she thought about Alice. She knew nothing was over until the fat lady sang, but surely if a man had to choose between a frumpy glorified payroll clerk and a kittenish Oscar nominated actress…

"Elsie?"

She quavered at the way his baritone voice rumbled her name.

"I didn't come all this way just to dance around with Thomas," he added softly.

"We'll stay overnight in Yorkshire," she husked.

"Yes." He mirrored her stance, clasping his hands behind his back. She swallowed when the action brought his chest closer to hers. "I have nothing booked yet, so perhaps you could arrange that while I talk with Barrow…"

"Yes, alright. Ms Baxter was encouraging me to go out of town, north to a B&B owned by a friend of hers, but if you'd prefer to stay somewhere more central or upmarket-"

"No. Somewhere quiet sounds perfect. So we can…" He paused.

She'd lost her voice too. She looked down, at her toes, and slid one hand around to fiddle with the lanyard she had hooked onto the waistband of her slacks.

Before either of them could find their voices, the office door swung open again and Thomas's pinched face glared at them.

"Are you nearly ready, Mr Carson?"

Charles rolled his eyes. Elsie gave him a look that conveyed he shouldn't make a big song and dance out of the other man's rudeness and, at the same time, flicked her hand around, shooing him.

"I'll talk to you later?" He posed this as a question, and yet never gave her a chance to answer. He wasn't giving her any chance to back out, she realised, admiring his broadness as he walked out of the office.

She'd just relaxed and was thinking about perhaps going for a visit of the shop floor to find Joe and Phyllis when Charles suddenly poked his head back in the doorway.

Elsie hovered, uncertain.

He closed the gap between them and leaned down, to whisper in her ear. His breath rustled the loose tendrils which had fallen from her hair's bun and his lips brushed against the tender skin beneath her lobe. Her nails dug into her palms to resist clutching his shoulders. "Be ready to face the music then, Mrs Hughes."


	14. How to Make Gravy

_Chapter 14: How to Make Gravy (N is for night time)_

Granthams Leeds had been closed for almost two hours. The sales staff had all headed for home, leaving only the executives, security, and cleaners in the building.

"Are you ready to shove off then, Elsie?" Joe asked as he entered Phyllis Baxter's office, which Elsie had unapologetically taken over. Graciously Ms Baxter had left Elsie to it, seeing out the rest of her day on the shop floor with her London equivalent.

"Joe tells me he's starving," Phyllis said, surprising Elsie by gently touching his hand and smiling in his direction.

Joe was just not one of those people that others instantly took to liking. Usually people needed to warm to his idiosyncrasies, and yet it looked like he and this glamorous woman had hit it off immediately.

"Well I am! I didn't get to eat before Charles forced me to help him chase after-"

Elsie pretended she hadn't noticed Joe instantly clamming up. There was only one way she could think of to end that sentence though. _She_ was the one Charles had forced Joe to travel to Leeds to chase after. The question was, _why_ did he want to chase after her?

She finished packing up her laptop and zipped up its case with a flick of her wrist. "We just need to find Charlie and we can be off," she said, forcing brightness into her tone.

"Where is Charlie?" Joe asked pleasantly. "I thought he'd be here with you."

"He's with Thomas," she said, checking around the room one more time for anything she might have left behind. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joe and Phyllis exchange a confused look. "What?" she asked.

"Thomas left about four hours ago," Phyllis replied. "He always had a planned trip to York this evening and I told him we'd be fine for him to go."

Elsie frowned and snatched up her mobile, scrolling through to check her emails and messages. There was nothing from Charles since Thomas must have left for York. "Where's Charlie been for four hours?" She dialled his number, tapping her fingers against her lanyard impatiently as the long drawn out ring in her ear continued. When the call clicked over to his message bank, she hung up and quickly sent him a text message. Then, logic prevailed: "He must be just using Thomas's office!"

They traipsed down the hall and pushed open Thomas's office door, ready to be feel stupid but relieved. It was dark and eerily quiet. Charles Carson didn't instantly appear once she groped around and flicked a switch to light up the room.

"Maybe he left a note…" Elsie frowned at the way she was clutching at straws. She strode across the room and hovered next to the desk, checking for any clues to his whereabouts. It was neat and tidy and clear of clutter, meaning any note - or missing six foot two man - would be quickly noticeable.

She clicked on Thomas's computer keyboard. It was shut down.

"I'll call security and ask them…" Phyllis said, touching Elsie on the shoulder as she spoke. Elsie wondered how pale she had become in the last few minutes for the other woman to make the gesture.

"Perhaps you could check the gents, Joe?" Elsie suggested, concentrating on keeping a cool tone despite her escalating worry.

While they both did that, she moved to the window, peering down at the high street for any sort of hint of commotion. With the lights, it was difficult to see, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Next Elsie tried his telephone again. Still, it rang for the prescribed five times before his familiar voice gave a spiel regarding leaving a message.

After what seemed an age (but was only a few minutes she knew in reality) Joe returned to the office, followed by young Andy, who'd taken over as Financial Controller at Granthams Leeds just over three months ago.

She hurried up to them. "Did you find him?" she asked, hopeful.

"No," Joe exhaled. "He did meet with Andy after finishing up with Thomas though."

Andy nodded. "Afterwards, he said he was going to go for a walk."

"When was this?"

Andy checked the time on his phone. "Probably about seven, I guess."

Her phone said 10.15 pm. She dialled Charles's number again. A minute later, she thumbed the red button on her mobile far too heavily in frustration. Again, there was no answer. "Did he say where he was thinking of walking to?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs Hughes. I didn't think…"

She waved away any guilt Andy might be feeling. "Why would you..."

"I'm sure he's okay though. I mean, he seemed quite capable when we spoke… And Leeds isn't that rough at night time."

Elsie nodded, suddenly feeling quite guilty about the way she was panicking. Andy was correct. Charles wasn't some doddering old fool who needed her permission to go for a walk. There was any number of reasons why he wasn't answering his mobile, including simply running out of battery life.

"It's so unlike him though," she said aloud. "His mobile is always charged, and he's not the type to drop in at a pub or-" She broke off when the office door opened, but her mind wasn't to be set to rest.

It wasn't Charlie who'd entered but Phyllis Baxter.

"Security have noticed nothing unusual," she said, "but they're going to check through their cameras and let me know."

"Did he give you any hint of where he was headed, Andy? Can you think of anything that would give us a clue as to which direction we should start to search in?"

Andy screwed his face up and stared at the floor for a moment, obviously replaying his conversation with Charles in his mind. Eventually he simply shook his head. "I'm sorry…"

"We could split up?" Joe suggested. "Ms Baxter and I could head along the street in one direction, check in a few likely places and ask... Andy, you and Mrs Hughes could walk in the other direction."

Elsie bit her lip. She was overreacting, but she couldn't shake off the image of Charlie lying in the gutter, bloody and disorientated after being hit on the head and robbed of his wallet and phone somewhere.

"Yes, let's go. I'll call the police and hospital on the way."


	15. I Wonder as I Wander

**_For those wondering, How to Make Gravy is an Aussie Christmas song by (living Aussie legend) Paul Kelly. It's about missing your family at Christmas when you're not together. Watch it on youtube! One of my fav songs evah. I'm sure I'll repost it on tumblr on the 21st December. Hee._**

 _Chapter 15: I Wonder as I Wander (O is for Over the River and Through the Woods - a journey in the snow or ice or just the cold)_

Elsie's ear burned from her mobile pressed against it. She and Andy had walked over five blocks and she had called the local hospitals, to only get the run around, and was now trying to explain the situation to the police. She'd been put through to three different officers now. No, Charles hadn't been gone for longer than 24 hours. No, he wasn't suffering from a mental disability. No, he wasn't dependent on drugs or alcohol. No, she didn't believe he was suffering from depression or anxiety.

Her voice faltered as she uttered that last statement. She'd been so selfish. Every time she had brooded lately, she had only thought about how everything would affect _her_.

She had fretted about how _she'd_ deal with Becky's care payments if Granthams went out of business. She had speculated over how her new feelings for Charles would change the way _she_ acted in their relationship. She had sulked over Alice Neal's return and how it could reshape _her_ life.

Had she been so caught up in her own problems that she'd ignored the first warning signs of depression in Charlie?

"How'd you go?" Andy asked as she finally disconnected the call.

"No one fitting Charles's description has been involved in any reported incidents. Other than that, we'll need to wait longer before they can take further action."

As they walked, they looked into every place where Charles might have wandered into and lost track of time: restaurants, coffee shops, takeaway food stores, late night convenience stores, even off licences and pharmacies. She thoroughly checked around every hole-in-the-wall.

Andy searched the bar and dining areas of the pubs they passed, while she waited just inside their entrances. She didn't hear the arguments which had started between patrons who'd had too much to drink, or smell the stale stench of alcohol mingled with urine and vomit that lingered in the air, or see the sad and desperate look on some of the customer's eyes. All she saw were the happy faces, the sound of laughter, the couples twined together contentedly. It felt wrong that everyone's lives were continuing so carefree.

She was thinking of calling Phyllis and Joe to check on their progress when she a call came in from an unknown caller.

She swiped the screen quickly, listening intently when the man on the other end explained the situation. Once he had, Elsie hung up and urgently threw her hand in the air in an attempt to catch the attention of a taxi.

"He's in the hospital." She tossed the words over her shoulder in Andy's general direction as she climbed into the taxi which had thankfully pulled up quickly. Her 'General Infirmary' destination came out in an anxious breathless gasp. Only at the last minute did Andy get a chance to tumble into the rear of the taxi alongside her.

"What-"

"I don't know," Elsie said, willing the traffic ahead of them to clear. "They only said he was not involved in an accident, but rather that it was a medical condition."

"I'll call Ms Baxter and Mr Molesley, shall I?"

She never replied. In any other circumstances, Elsie would have been pleased as punch with Andy and his calm assistance. She hoped that he would later forgive her for her rudeness.

Medical condition… Too many complaints ran through Elsie's mind. Strokes, heart attacks, aneurysms. None set her mind to rest.

It was close to half eleven when they finally found their way into the emergency coronary ward Charles had been placed in. _Coronary_. He'd had a heart attack.

A doctor met her at reception. "I want to assure you this was a _mild_ heart attack, Mrs Carson," he said in a fellow Scottish accent which gratefully soothed her jarred nerves. "He'll need to stay here for another couple of days, and he'll need a couple of weeks to recover fully, but with the right preventative medication and a couple of minor lifestyle changes, your husband should be able to stay out of the woods."

Neither Elsie nor Andy bothered with any correction of her identity. Instead, she asked about seeing him.

"Of course," the doctor said, leading her along a confusing maze of corridors until they hovered outside Charles's room. The doctor, whose name according to the badge pinned to his sleeveless jumper was Richard Clarkson, held the door handle before opening it. "Take it easy on him about leaving you in a panic," he said. "We took the phone off him until after all our tests were carried out. I understand one of our young nurses bore the brunt of his exasperation when he finally read your texts and missed call notifications."

Unfortunately Doctor Clarkson's attempt to explain away Charlie's silence only heightened the frustrations she'd suffered through that evening, and the poor man bore the brunt of _her_ exasperation. "I hardly think harping on about something like that was going to be my first plan for a man who's just suffered a heart attack, mild or otherwise," she snapped.

Doctor Clarkson cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly in the ward entrance for a moment longer before pushing the door all the way open for to enter, but neither he nor Andy followed her.

Andy told her he'd go in search of Phyllis and Joe, as well as coffee and some sort of snacks for her, and the doctor informed her his next round would be in about an hour's time

So, once alone in the patient's ward, Elsie exhaled one long shuddering breath. He looked much better lying in the hospital bed than she had thought he would. He had a couple of monitors hooked up to his chest, but nothing too complicated or alarming; no tangle of cords that would need negotiating anyway.

He was wearing a standard faded khaki hospital gown, which was probably the most unusual part of his appearance, considering he always wore buttoned-up shirts with ties. In fact, the view revealing a smattering of chest hair eager to escape the loose fitting gown was quite shocking for her always conservatively dressed friend. His too-pale skin of his chest contrasted distressingly with the bright red shade of his face and neck. His eyes stayed closed, his long eyelashes giving his face definition along with his thick eyebrows.

She smiled at his hair. Instead of its usually waxed down control, it stuck out the side of his head in a haphazard fashion. That one curl, which often made an appearance in the centre of his forehead without his knowledge, caught her attention as usual. Using her pinky finger, Elsie brushed the kiss curl back from his face.

The touch made his eyes flutter open. They were clear and bright, giving her hope as he held her gaze with a clear intensity. She only looked away to drag a visitors' chair closer to his bedside and lower herself into it.

Once settled, needing more physical reassurance he was going to be okay, she reached out to touch him again, skimming the back of her fingers down his arm.

He surprised her by twisting his wrist and capturing her tiny hand inside his much larger one.

"You don't always have to be the centre of attention, you know," she chided softly.

He made a 'hmph' noise and neither of them made another sound after that.

Instead, they merely held hands, occasionally squeezing them together gently and comfortingly.

Only Doctor Clarkson coming in some time after midnight, ordering her to go 'home' until later that day, would force them to break contact.


	16. Mary's Boy Child

_Chapter 16: Mary's Boy Child (P is for pudding)_

Elsie spent most of the morning on the telephone with Anna until she was satisfied everything in Granthams London was well under control. She had thought it would be a good idea to let Charles rest for the morning anyway.

By one o'clock in the afternoon, however, she found herself outside his ward at General Infirmary.

She hesitated for a moment until the young nurse on reception called out cheerily, "You can go right in, Mrs Carson!"

This would be a good time to clear up the misconception that she and Charles were married, she thought, but instead she merely nodded and waved her thanks.

Charles was sitting up in the bed, awake. On his over-bed food tray sat a gift basket of some sort.

"What's all this then?" she asked as a greeting.

"Beryl's idea of a joke, I'd say."

She raised an eyebrow.

"A care package, she said on the card. This is the first item I retrieved from it," he said, passing Elsie a book - _Healthy Heart for Dummies_.

Elsie laughed, and they were both laughing when they slowly unpacked the rest of the basket's contents: a packet of aspirin, a stress ball, a dolphin song CD, a plush toy in the shape of a heart. There was also a packet of jelly crystals and a snack pack of custard flavoured pudding.

"Apparently I've not only had a heart attack, but some sort of dental work also."

Elsie chuckled and picked up the book, flipping through its pages with some interest. Before she'd gone to sleep last night, she'd done numerous google searches on heart conditions. Various sites had told her that Charlie shouldn't travel for at least ten days. Should Dr Clarkson confirm this, she would need to work out how to convince Charlie to neglect Granthams London and stay in Yorkshire for that long.

A more depressing thought was that she should convince him to neglect Granthams London forever. The word retirement wasn't one he liked to utter often.

"Charlie," she began, "the cause of your heart-"

"Frank Watson."

She frowned, confused by his quick response. Frank Watson was Andy's predecessor. After a lengthy disciplinary process, she had finally been able to force him to take a severance package which reflected his terrible performance. As far as she knew he was now selling shoes in Manchester. "Watson was really my problem, Charles. I'm in charge of HR."

"He left a mess. Young Andy has finally caught up with the last six months of statements. Like you asked, he's done up figures for your downsizing plans. He wondered if I could have a look at his new Balance Sheet and Profit and Loss for the Leeds store."

"And?" she prompted, although if Charles had had a heart attack over these figures, she doubted they'd be good.

"Leeds is in even more dire straits than London." He waved his hand when she went to speak. "Yes, yes, I know. It's the economy. The GFC, the Brexit. You've told me. But, anyway, I went for a walk. Needed to clear my head. A couple of blocks later, I was in front of Haxby Park."

"Oh, Charlie, I-"

He held up his hand again, so she bit her lip and let him finish. "I stood outside, thinking about the time when they were our only competitor. How much I hated Carlisle back in the day. And now… Now I don't even know who I'm competing with. The internet…" He shook his head.

"And our argument wouldn't have helped."

"No, I'm used to those," he said with a grin. "And we always kiss and make up."

She blinked. His comment was completely innocent, she knew. He meant nothing by it. It was just a common idiom, not one to be taken literally. Only…

She often wanted to kiss him in the midst of their arguments. Just to see if it would knock him off balance; distract him.

She busied herself with returning the gifts Beryl had sent to their basket, resolutely ignoring Charlie and the fact she was now thinking about his lips. They were a pleasant flesh colour (she disliked the shiny 'just licked' too-red type some men had) but they were thin. If she was to nibble on his bottom one, would they become plumper and-

She stopped right there. It was bad enough that she'd also googled how long after a heart attack before one could partake in sexual relations. Her eyes fell onto the 'dummies' book. Would it confirm the two weeks timeline, and also mention that being able to climb a flight of stairs without showing any signs of weakness was the general rule of thumb?

She looked away. She had to keep her head in the game, so to speak.

"I have a proposal," she started, but a knock on the door stopped her from going further. At his agreeing nod, she moved to open the door. The visitor wasn't one she'd been expecting at all.

The tall and lithe woman clutched a bunch of flowers, most likely grabbed from the foyer newsagency at the last minute, Elsie thought cattily. Mary Crawley was not known for her benevolence.

"Mrs Hughes, I've come to see the patient."

Elsie wobbled her head, surprised that the eldest Crawley girl had bothered to address her at all. In the bed, Charles was struggling to straighten up against the bulky hospital pillows and running a hand through his waywardly styled hair. Elsie wouldn't have been surprised if he'd puff into this hand to check his breath if Mary looked away for a moment.

"I'll go and grab a coffee from the cafe while you-"

"There's no need."

Elsie thought Mary's tone implied just the opposite though and quickly insisted leaving the pair alone after checking with Charles he didn't need anything in the hospital shop.

Mary Crawley had rubbed Elsie up the wrong way from the moment she was born. Of all the Crawley sisters, Mary's mouth was the one that clamped onto the silver spoon tightest. She'd never decided on a career or family like Edith or Sybil. Instead she flitted from one failure to another in her professional and personal life. And each time, her daddy insisted on bailing her out, and Charles insisted on defending her.

After making several calls (one to whinge to Beryl about Mary's presence), she returned to Charles's room. Mary Crawley was still there.

Elsie decided to busy herself while they finished off their conversation. She plucked Mary's bunch of flowers from the bedside table with the intention of placing it in a vase.

"I really must go now that Mrs Hughes is back," Mary was saying. "I'm meeting friends for lunch, and I'm probably late."

As it was now after two, there was probably no probably about it, Elsie thought bitchily.

"Now" -Mary leaned down and pecked a kiss on Charles's cheek- "I will see you at the wedding. This silly heart attack business is not going to delay it."

Elsie clutched the flower arrangement. She heard a couple of leaves break off.

"Of course this won't delay anything!" Charles vehemently cried.

Elsie mumbled something under her breath and left the room in search of a vase. She couldn't bear to listen to anymore of their conversation. A wedding… She couldn't…

Her mind whirled as a nurse filled up a glass vase with water for her. A wedding…

Finally, after fussing with the flowers for far too long, she returned to the room, her gaze flitting from Charles's pyjama clad bulk balanced in the small but high bed, to Mary's designer outfit perfection. Could it be true that he'd tell Mary if he was marrying Alice Neal before he said anything to Elsie?

"No," she said aloud, making both of the room's other occupants swing around and stare at her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hughes?"

Elsie grimaced, torn between snapping at the girl that, considering she'd known her since she was around 16, she could stop calling her 'Mrs Hughes' and kissing her for being the one who was getting (yet again) married. Elsie wasn't entirely sure how Robert Crawley had got the whole thing mixed up yet, but this time, she _was_ sure he had.

"I mean, there's no way Charlie would miss your wedding," she said, refusing to contemplate her embarrassment should she be incorrect with her assumption.

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes. I'll see you both there," she added, even though Elsie had yet to see an invitation.

She smiled as Mary Crawley departed, her high heels leaving marks on the vinyl flooring.

"Dare I ask who she's marrying?"

"Henry Talbot."

"Well, I never…" Elsie couldn't believe she'd been in such a foolish tizzy over the entire mistaken identity of the groom for the past few days. Then, she asked, "Does her father know?"

"No, not exactly. I booked the castle her ceremony is to take place in some months ago, placing it in my name."

That explained it then. He had found out and thought it was Charles marrying.

"When is it to be?"

"Christmas Eve-"

"What? This Christmas Eve? With such short notice, her family might be-"

"She's told them to keep the date free to attend a wedding; only she told them it was to be you and I who were marrying."

Elsie stared at him, dumbfounded. "You mean to tell me that the entire Crawley family think they're attending our wedding on Christmas eve?"


	17. Away in a Manger

_Chapter 17: Away in a Manger (Q is for question)_

"So, let me get this straight, the entire Crawley family believe they are attending the wedding of one Elsie May Hughes to Charles Ernest Carson?"

"That's about the size of it," Elsie said as she switched her mobile phone into speaker mode and placed it onto the faded green laminex bench top in front of her while she boosted herself into a white plastic kitchen stool. "He claims no staff other than Anna knows anything about it, but… It seems to me that it's only a matter of time until one of the invitees let's the cat out of the bag."

"And he's the one who always carries on about pride and appearance!"

"He's also the one who will always jump through hoops for Mary Crawley," Elsie noted, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone. She realised she'd probably failed miserably when Beryl let out a noise that was something in between a snort and a groan.

"At least you're in Yorkshire," she pointed out, "just imagine that ol' biddy Violet coming and chatting with you about wedding favours and gift registries if you were still in London."

"Very funny," Elsie drawled "Mary's getting married at some castle near Anthony Strallan's estate-"

"Of course she is."

"-which apparently is about an hour north of here. So he made up a black tie charity event at Strallan's. Had Ivy add it to my calendar, would you believe. And when I questioned that, he said it was the only way to ensure I never agreed to attend a different event on the evening of the wedding."

"Elsie Hughes, ever the social butterfly... Or he could have simply told you this barmy plan and asked if you'd agree to act as the bride-to-be. I hope you told him that!"

"He'd just had a heart attack," she reminded her friend, "I'm supposed to be helping him recuperate, not relapse. And to give him credit, he had tried to tell me several times, including the night of your opening but then Alice arrived and…"

"Yes, the bright side of all this is that Alice is not a bride-to-be, fake or otherwise."

Elsie remained quiet at that comment, not wanting to admit Beryl that she was still worried about Alice. After all, just because he wasn't engaged to the celebrity didn't mean he wasn't still in contact.

Beryl audibly, and with exaggeration, sighed. "Tell me about the flat then?"

Elsie glanced around the compact kitchen, screwing her nose up at its styling. It was serviceable and clean though. "Phyllis Baxter found it for me. It's only a couple of blocks from the hospital in one direction, and a couple of blocks from Granthams in the other. The owners have agreed to let us rent it out for a month, though, which was its main attraction. It's fully furnished, sparsely, but the necessities are here."

"How'd you ever get him to agree to this?" Beryl asked. "Of course you've always been able to sweet talk our Charlie into anything."

Elsie chuckled. "I doubt it."

"And he agreed to the job swap too?"

"It wasn't a question of agreeing. He had no choice. Doctor Clarkson refused to sign off on him travelling to London. He would only discharge him if he stayed within a fifteen minute radius of the hospital, in fact. Luckily most of the heavy lifting for Christmas at Granthams is done months before the actual holiday. And it seemed like a logical step, sending Thomas to London in Charlie's place. Thomas gets to start over with staff who don't know him. Hopefully he'll do things differently this time. And Charles and I can help sort out some of the problems he was having here in Leeds."

"It won't give him another heart attack? Trying to sort out Thomas's mess?

"No," she said with determination, even though that thought had crossed her mind once or twice or a thousand times. There was a fine line she would need to balance Charles so that he remained busy and yet didn't put too much pressure on himself.

"And what about you? You're not going to give _yourself_ a heart attack from overwork, are you, Mrs Hughes?"

"I've hired a nurse to help out for a while."

She had planned on leaving Charles with the nurse day _and_ night initially, but due to short notice and the short period of time, Elsie had no luck with finding a nurse willing to take on such an arrangement. In the end, it had seemed simpler for her to move into the flat as well. She needed somewhere to live while she was in Leeds anyway. And Charles didn't need care in the way of helping him bathe or go to the toilet and so forth. He simply needed someone to keep an eye on him in case he should have another turn.

After Elsie had quickly explained all this, Beryl asked, "So, there is a spare, isn't there?"

"Spare what?"

"Spare bedroom. You aren't sharing, are you?" she asked wickedly. She didn't wait for Elsie to answer the cheeky question, but went on: "Really, where is your bedroom though? Will you hear him? Is it on the same floor as his?"

"The flat has been set up for two singles to share, with a bed and bath on both floors. I am, of course, going to put Charles in the downstairs bedroom."

"How will that turn out then, will he have climb the stairs if he wants you?"

Elsie gulped at Beryl's question. "I've bought a baby monitor." she mumbled, before deliberately changing the subject to how Copper Kettle Kitchen was faring.

Some ten or so minutes later, after hanging up from her friend, Elsie switched on the electric kettle. She needed to distract herself with a cup of tea.

She opened and shut several cupboards in search of a teacup, eventually finding one when standing on her tiptoes and reaching towards the back of the cupboard above the stove. She would need to rearrange some things, it seemed. Who on earth would keep their everyday crockery items in such a spot?

She poured boiling water onto a teabag finally, dunking it in and out of the water while mentally adding a pack of loose leaf tea onto her grocery list. Charles had whined about the teabags at the hospital at least three times.

Absentmindedly blowing across the tea to cool it down, she looked out into the shared downstairs living area of the flat, thinking about what else she would need to do before the patient's arrival. Along with some basic groceries and toiletries, she would need to sort out towels for the bathroom and sheets for the beds.

Her mind kept drifting, however, back to Beryl's question.

"... _will he have climb the stairs if he wants you?"_

Surely Beryl hadn't meant to pose that question in exactly that way…

Elsie couldn't resist moving to the foot of the stairs which were tucked against the wall of the flat and contemplating their degree of incline. Slowly, she climbed them, counting all twelve steps as she went, until she stood on the landing that led to a narrow hallway which in turn led to her bedroom.

She leaned over the railing. From this angle even she was a little dizzy. There was no way Charles could climb these stairs any time soon.

Maybe it wasn't even about sex, she thought. Was climbing a set of stairs an apt metaphor for _any_ romantic relationship she might hope to have with Charles?

Irritated, she turned and clumped down the stairs. There was no time for this, she repeated as she returned to organising the flat for Charles's arrival in the morning.

Unfortunately, however, as it turned out, that question would remain prominently in Elsie's mind for lot longer than she wished.


	18. Ding Dong Merrily on High

_Chapter 18: Ding Dong Merrily on High (R is for reading)_

It was half five in the afternoon by the time they'd completed the necessary paperwork and Charlie was finally discharged from the hospital.

Esie had asked Andy to accompany them, just in case Charlie needed a strong body to lean on. She was pleased, observing his journey to and from the car, that this seemed unnecessary and Charlie was moving around without a hint of frailty.

After entering via the kitchen door, Elsie took Charlie for a tour of the flat.

Andy, who'd kindly lugged Charlie's bags from the car, met up with them after they'd moved through the entire downstairs floor and ended up at the front door. Beside the front door, of course, was the staircase.

She attempted to steer them away. "There's even a nice garden out the back..."

Both men, to her dismay, ignored her and lingered at the foot of the staircase, contemplating the ascent.

"Your bedroom is on the upper floor?" Charles asked.

She waved her hand about, casually, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. Somehow neither man took her hint.

"You'd better not attempt it just yet, Mr Carson," Andy warned, staring up at the stairs. "Although it will be a good guide to gauge your health. Maybe in a couple of days, you should test the waters, so to speak, and see how far you get."

"Goodness!" She blushed when they both swung around. She attempted to elaborate: "Yes, of course, you're right, Andy. But just don't be testing the waters in any way without me around."

"What about when Ethel is here?" Andy asked guilelessly.

She frowned, thinking about the pretty redhead who'd come to the hospital earlier and introduced herself before she was due to start work for them in the morning. Elsie wasn't sure she wanted Charlie testing the waters, so to speak, with her either.

"Just…" There was no real way she could articulate her thoughts. "Be careful."

Charles merely grunted before shuffling towards the back of the flat again to check out the, extremely narrow, patch of garden she'd falsely advertised as a distraction whilst she got to work making them something to eat.

"Are you staying for dinner, Andy?" she asked a little time later as she placed a plate out onto the small table and chairs she'd bought earlier, to save Charles from having to balance on the stools.

He glanced down at the meal before shaking his head. "I'd love to, Mrs Hughes, but I have to run." Then, looking over his shoulder, he added: "Call me anytime, Mr Carson, if you need any heavy lifting, I'm your man."

"What a fine lad he is," Elsie said conversationally as she laid out the table and concentrated on ignoring the intimacy of the settings.

"Yes, yes. It makes a change, that's for sure. What culinary delight do we have here then?" he asked as he lowered himself into one of the new chairs.

She leaned over and removed the upper plate she'd placed on the meal to keep it warm while she finished the gravy…

"Oh! The gravy!"

Elsie raced over to the microwave and opened its door. The gravy was almost completely solidified due to the intense heat she'd left on for too long. It continued to bubble rapidly even after she grabbed a cloth and removed it from the microwave oven. "I think it's ruined," she grumbled, stirring the sticky substance vigorously.

After almost a full minute of mixing the lumpy sauce which was stuck onto the sides of the jug, she gave up, and pressed her foot down onto a lever to open the bin lid and dispose of the gloop, one splattered spoonful at a time.

"That's okay," said Charles, with a forced cheerfulness, as she placed the jug in the sink and filled it with water to soak. "I'll just have ketchup or something."

"I didn't buy ketchup. It's full of sugar and salt, Charlie."

"Well…" He picked up his knife and fork, resolute. "I'm sure it will be fine without it, Elsie. Sit down," he added, waving his cutlery towards the spare chair.

She did as he said, pouring him a glass of water to accompany their meal. He gave the beverage a bit of a pained look. His habit of a glass of wine with his meal, however, would need to change for the moment.

"Do you need help, Charlie?" she asked when he took an inordinately long time to cut up his chicken.

"I'm not that feeble, Elsie. It's probably just cheap cutlery they've supplied." He pressed his fork deeper into the chicken and worked the knife until he'd cut off a piece of white flesh. "There," he said triumphantly taking the mouthful from the fork. "I'm fine." Then: "Maybe some salt…"

"No salt, no sugar, Charlie," she reiterated.

"And no gravy," he added with a grimace.

She flashed him a look, unsure whether he was being facetious or not, before swallowing down a piece of her chicken. It was a little plain and chewy, she conceded, but they'd need to get used to the change of diet. She was thankful she'd gone off to the dentist this quarter, at least.

For a while they spoke of everyday things and conversation flowed easily until Charlie declared he was finished his meal.

"Are you sure? You didn't eat much." He'd picked over the vegetables she'd carefully steamed, without adding any salt or butter. He'd barely finished half the poached piece of chicken. "Maybe you should ask Dr Clarkson if it's normal to have a small appetite after a heart attack," she suggested.

"Why don't I go and have a read of my book," he said, "see what it says, shall I?"

She agreed, unsure. Surely he would need to eat more to build up his strength.

"Have you been eating more than that at the hospital?" she called out as he settled into the couch and she cleared away the plates.

Dismissing her concerns he waved his arm and said, "Probably just the excitement of the day."

"Maybe I could tempt you with something for dessert? Something much more appetising? You probably shouldn't indulge completely yet, but we could start with just a taste-"

He coughed then, a choking sound that had her rushing to the sofa and patting him on the back. "Charlie?"

"I'm okay," he croaked eventually.

She'd slid into the couch beside him and was clutching his hand. "Do you want me to call the ambulance?"

"No!" He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I was just…"

He looked straight into her eyes for a long time before he finally dropped his gaze. It wandered down, over her lips that were probably swollen and red from her twitchy habit of chewing on them. She licked her bottom one to check.

"I'm just tired probably," he offered, his voice jerky and hoarse - from the coughing, she assumed.

"Yes. I should probably be quiet, give you a chance to relax without me being on top of you."

She jumped up from the couch, but out of the corner of her eye she saw he'd paled even more.

"I could call the doctor and check-"

"No, I'll be fine. I might take a shower," he said, determination oddly entering his tone.

"Do you need help..."

"No!" He grimaced. "Sorry, Elsie. I'm just a little…" He waved his hand around the room. Tension, however, wasn't what she was supposed to be adding to his life.

"I want a shower as well, but I'll let you go first. I'm not sure how much heat we'll have if we have a shower at the same time."

Her attempt to make their conversation more easygoing with that statement, however, didn't seem to work. Charlie definitely made an odd noise after she finished speaking.

"Charlie?" She leaned down and felt his forehead and cheek to see if he was hot. Or cold. "I might call Dr Clark-"

"No! I'm fine, Elsie. Please, trust me."

"You're flushed and sweaty and-"

"You're reading too much into it. It's just been a bit of excitement, moving in here with you. I promise I'll tell you if you should call an ambulance or the doctor."

She finally relented but later, when getting ready for bed, she admitted she'd be checking on him more than once that night. It was better to be safe than sorry, she thought. Whether she was reading too much into it or not.


	19. Christmas Wrapping

_Chapter 19: Christmas Wrapping (S is for stocking/s)_

On the Thursday prior to Christmas, Elsie decided to visit the store floor before she left for the day.

She strolled through the displays with a real sense of pride. Instead of getting frustrated at the jostling shoppers like a normal person, she found the crowds heartening. Unfortunately the reality was the figures probably wouldn't be boosted enough to allow them to keep on as many staff as they hoped in the new year.

It was only once she'd arrived at the womenswear section that she felt out of her depth.

She'd decided on a dress, however, none looked suitable. She flicked through the hangers, feeling more overwhelmed by the minute. Colourfully patterned ones weren't really her thing. And a white one was out of the question.

"Do you need some help, Mrs Hughes?"

Phyllis Baxter hovered, looking effortlessly stylish, as was her habit.

"Are you just browsing? Or buying something for Mr Carson's stocking?"

She blinked. What could the woman ever think she'd be putting in Charlie's stocking from the womenswear section?

"I'd like a new dress for a special event. A wedding."

Beryl had gone to Elsie's London house, packed up some clothes and sent them up to Leeds. As such Elsie had a couple of outfits she could wear on Christmas Eve, but this morning she had wondered if splurging on something new wouldn't be a good idea.

Phyllis Baxter was circling, critically running her eye up and down. "Maybe we need to get you something a little less… tidy."

A few hours later, Elsie tumbled into the kitchen, flinging her coat and scarf off and piling them onto the bench along with her briefcase, laptop and shopping bags. "I'm home!" she sung out. Then, she froze when she realised just what she'd said.

 _Home…_ This wasn't her home. She should remember this was only a temporary arrangement, no matter how comfortable and easy she'd found it over the last week.

Blushing furiously, she looked across towards the lounge to see Charlie's reaction to her embarrassing gaffe. She couldn't see him.

Toeing her shoes off, she padded in her stockinged feet to the main living area. The couch was empty but for the couple of throw blankets and cushions Phyllis Baxter had loaned them.

The display-only mantle (the flat had no working fireplace, fake or otherwise) was newly decorated with two red stockings, one embroidered with an E and the other a C.

Although it was clear she'd find no clue as to Charlie's whereabouts from the stockings' contents, Elsie still poked her nose in one and then the other. Guiltily she noted the 'C' stocking was empty, however the 'E' stocking was stuffed with small gifts.

She moved to the bathroom door, tentatively opening it when there was no answer to her knock. She peeked around the door into the spotlessly clean room. A dark blue toiletries bag balanced precariously on the limited shelf space beside a cup holding a toothbrush and paste. Two towels hung symmetrically on the rack. The faint whiff of spicy aftershave hung in the air but there was no sign on the man who wore it.

Backing out of the room, she wandered to Charlie's makeshift work station.

Doctor Clarkson had banned Charles from going anywhere near the store for the first five days after his discharge, so they'd decided he wouldn't start back at the store, physically, until the new year. In the meantime, he was doing what he could from the flat.

During the day he turned the small table she'd purchased for them to eat their meals upon into a desk. Elsie usually came home to it strewn with paperwork, stationery, and his devices. Tonight, however, he'd already stacked everything tidily into a pile against the wall. His laptop was closed and plugged into the charger. There was no note on the table.

She frowned and dug her mobile out of the pocket of her slacks. Technically it would have been nice if Ethel stayed until Elsie arrived home, but she knew the young girl had been slipping away early to tend to her wee bairn. Elsie had lectured Charlie about keeping his mobile charged and on him at all times during the small gap between Ethel leaving and her returning. It had worked out that the gap was no more than half an hour up until tonight. Tonight, if something had happened because she was late due to a frivolous bit of shopping, she'd never forgive herself.

There were no messages on her phone, so she thumbed the screen to call his number. It was busy.

Just then, a muffled sound caught her attention. She tilted her head and listened. It was Charlie, talking, perhaps on the telephone.

Dragging across the blind, she unhooked and opened the sliding door to the garden just a smidgen. Charles stood in the paved patio area, speaking on his mobile.

"I'm just asking for a recipe or two…No, I'm not saying that! You're putting words into my mouth! Yes, yes, I know…" He jumped from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to keep warm. It would have made more sense to her to simply come inside. She was about to suggest this when she heard her name.

"I know Elsie works all day and by the time... What do you mean? I had a heart attack, I'm supposed to be resting! Yes, I know she deserves nothing less."

Again Elsie thought she should say something to signal her presence, but she'd apparently lost her voice. His next words were definitely not meant for her ears, so she took a few steps back into the flat, counted to ten and then rattled on the sliding door to get his attention. Later, however, like a curious cat, she would roll the words around in her mind over and over.

" _No, I haven't told her yet. I hope she wants to... Yes, it's in her stocking."_


	20. Little Drummer Boy

_Chapter 20: Little Drummer Boy (T is for tree) Apologies in advance to anyone who might live in Leeds. I obviously have no idea. Merry Christmas._

Elsie had risen early, used the bathroom and dressed with a minimum of fuss.

She had crept down the steps the first morning, thinking Charles might like to sleep in, but his internal clock kept firing, ensuring he was awake by half six at the latest. By seven he'd dressed, checked his messages, read the news headlines and brewed a pot of tea.

This morning, though, she'd only taken a couple of steps down when she saw Charles, instead of meeting her in the kitchen as he did usually, hovering at the bottom of the staircase.

She gripped the railing for the rest of her descent, murmuring 'good morning' and 'thank you' as he passed her a sweetened cup of tea.

He was always dressed in a neat shirt and trousers. There was no slouching around in sloppy casual gear for Charles Carson, she'd learnt. This morning he was feeling the chill apparently as he'd added another layer with a slipover sleeveless jumper.

"Have you taken your pills?" she asked faithfully.

"Yes. I have an appointment at the hospital this morning."

"Oh! I'll just call Phyllis to tell her I'll be late."

"No, no. I'll be okay."

"But-"

He held his hand up to stop her insisting. He was pouting just the tiniest amount, accentuating the cleft in his chin. She wondered if his smile would return if she leant over and skimmed her thumb across his bottom lip.

Instead, she quickly wrapped her hands right around her teacup, hoping it looked as though she was simply trying to warm them.

Charles Carson was certainly a temptation.

He was also a distraction. For most of the day, even with the general busyness that two days before Christmas would naturally bring, Charles continually crept into her thoughts. Just before lunch she decided she'd need to at least source a few things for his stocking. She called Beryl, hoping her friend would give her some inspiration.

"I need your help with Charlie," she said.

"Are you ready to kill him?" Beryl asked. "Don't be too harsh on yourself if you are. Familiarity leads to contempt."

"No," she said, surprising even herself with the conviction of it. "Quite the opposite actually. Sharing the flat is… We've waltzed into a routine, and it's quite…"

"Boring?"

"I was going to say comforting."

And it was. But she'd married Joe because he'd been comforting. It hadn't been enough. But hearts could be a perverse thing, she knew, considering the way she wanted this comforting simple life with Charles to continue.

"I haven't bought him a thing for Christmas," Elsie admitted, trying to keep the conversation and her emotions on track. "Do you have any idea what he'd like?"

"I'm sure you'd have more of an idea than me."

Elsie had huffed at Beryl's deliberate double entendre. It was difficult enough, being infatuated with Charles and not being able to give in to that attraction, without her friend adding to her frustration.

In the end, Elsie had settled on a couple of books, a new scarf, and a CD. Nothing particularly personal, which made her restless and unfulfilled, and she spent the rest of the afternoon racking her brain for something special she could gift him.

It was just after six and she was in the upstairs office when the main star of her daydreams walked in. He was wearing a different pair of trousers and shirt. This time he'd paired them up with a grey striped waistcoat. A fob watch chain hung low from an inner pocket of the waistcoat. He was clean shaven and smelling of his usual cologne, which was spiced with patchouli and bergamot. He managed to make her feel like a frump in her plain black dress.

"You're feeling better, Mr Carson?" Ms Baxter, who'd been sorting out a box of catalogues beside Elsie, asked.

"Much, Ms Baxter, thank you." He glanced in Elsie's direction. She gripped her mouse tightly, causing the computer cursor to slide across her screen. "I thought I might go for a walk up the Christmas markets at the civic hall and then back to the flat from there. I wonder if you might like to join me, Mrs Hughes?"

Elsie flushed. "The store doesn't shut until-"

"Please, don't worry, Mrs Hughes," Phyllis Baxter interrupted. "I have your mobile number if there's an emergency."

She glanced across at the cheerily wrapped gifts she had stacked in the corner of the room.

Phyllis read her mind apparently. "Andy can drop them over to your flat on his way home," Phyllis suggested.

"Everything's sorted then!" Charles cried, clapping his hands together and grinning at Elsie in such a way that she couldn't refuse the invitation.

Charles gripped her elbow as they walked along the pavement in the direction of the markets. He slowed his strides, not just due to his recent illness, but to match her smaller ones also.

There was already a crowd at the civic hall square when they arrived.

"How about a mulled wine to warm us up?" Charlie asked, taking out some cash from his coat pocket and ordering two before she could protest.

She raised her eyes when he passed her the styrofoam cup the drink came in.

"I'll put up with it just this once," he murmured, knowing her look was all about the fact he whined constantly about takeaway cups.

"Keep walking," she ordered as he sniffed the air as they walked past the next stall which was offering warm doughnuts covered in sugar and cinnamon.

"Doctor Clarkson gave me a sensible diet plan."

She pursed her lips. He chuckled and hooked her free arm through his, propelling her forwards.

They strolled, unhurried, through the markets. There were stalls offering handmade crafts, jams, chutneys, cakes and slices; church and school choirs taking turns to sing carols and raise money; children lighting up the night with sparklers and glow sticks.

Eventually they did return to the food area, where they sat down at a table and shared a plate of fish and chips.

"What did the doctor say?" Elsie asked, still panicking about the amount of greasy food Charlie should be eating.

"Doctor Clarkson was very pleased," he told her.

"Did he mention going back to work?"

"Well, yes, we did discuss it, among other things." He tugged at his collar. "But… I told him about Alice."

Elsie coughed, choking on a small piece of food. She waved Charlie away when he reached over to pat her on the back, grabbing her drink and taking a large gulp instead. Once she'd recovered, she gestured for him to continue.

"It was nice to see her." Then, quickly before Elsie could even imagine how her expression had looked to him: "Not for… It was nice to see her to put that whole part of my life behind me. To move on. I've decided there's nothing we can do about our past shaping our present and future, but we shouldn't allow our past to define our present and future."

"And you've…" She hesitated for a long moment before continuing. "And you've put the past behind you then?"

"Yes. I think I've finally forgiven her too."

"That's good, Charlie," she said, sincere.

"Doctor Clarkson and I spoke about settling down and I told him in no uncertain terms it wasn't for me."

"Oh." No pottering around a cottage in a small village then, she thought. No laying in bed late, making love-

She took another large sip of her drink and stared out at the crowd.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach into his jacket pocket and retrieve his mobile.

"Here..." He thumbed the screen and then passed it to her. She stared down at an open Facebook page. _Velvet Underground,_ she read. It was a shop selling antiques, collectibles and various other curios. Its address was listed as Brunker Road, in the small village north of Leeds called Ripon. The first post on their page announced the shop as being up for sale.

"Obviously I'll be wanting to change that name. Sounds like a brothel."

"You're thinking of buying it?"

"Yes. Or something like it. I was hoping you might agree to go and look at it in the morning. If we leave early for the wedding, we can detour to Ripon first. It would be nice to get a second opinion."

"Yes, of course. I don't mind."

She bit her bottom lip. Of course she minded. Ripon was at least an hour north of Leeds; almost a world away once she returned to London. If she ever needed proof that her life with Charlie in the flat was a dream she was weaving, this was it. Not seeing him, even at work, even platonically, felt… wrong and...

Elsie's morbid thoughts were interrupted by a woman's voice: "Could we squeeze into the end of the table?"

They both looked up and realised just how crowded the tables and chairs had become. Politely, they quickly cleared their plates and rose to allow someone else to sit in their place.

Without speaking, they made their way to the exit at the far end of the markets. Again, without saying a word or consulting each other, they stopped in front of the council Christmas tree placed near the exit.

Though Leeds' Christmas tree was not on the same scale as the one in Trafalgar Square, the large pine's branches was charmingly decorated with maroon and green baubles as well as strings of lights.

"It's not as impressive as Granthams London's tree, of course."

Elsie snorted at Charles's pompous declaration, but then remembered how she'd thought he'd been distant the night they'd switched on that tree.

They'd gone around in a circle, it seemed, and were back where they started. The spectre of Alice was gone, he'd said, but she still felt they were distant emotionally. And they'd be physically distant if he went to live in Ripon.

"I bought you a gift today. I was going to place this one under the tree, but… Now seems the right time to give it to you."

She opened her handbag, pulling out the gift certificate she'd purchased and printed out about a half an hour before he'd turned up at the store.

"Charlie, it's been quite surreal at the store without you." Maybe it would help if she was honest with him on an occasion. "I thought I was just fretting about your health, or the economy like you, but then I realised it was more. My job is wrong without you. So I wanted…" She pushed the envelope towards him, without further ado. "You're the thing that keeps me grounded. You keep me stable. I feel as though I'm swaying in the wind without you at the store."

He skimmed the contents of the certificate. "You bought me a tree?"

"An oak tree, to be exact. A solid dependable tree. The money goes to conservation of an oak tree, dedicated in your name."

"Elsie, I don't know what to say…"

"Well, as long as you don't say you think it's silly…"

"Of course I don't! I'm… touched. Thank you, Elsie."

Her gaze settled on his lips (was she becoming obsessed with them?), but he made no move to kiss her as a thank you. He looked away, to read the certificate again, his body language and smile saying he was obviously quite pleased with the idea.

"I don't want you to go to Ripon," she whispered.


	21. Mistletoe and Wine

_Chapter 21: Mistletoe and Wine (U is for Under the Mistletoe - smooching! - or not, if you want to be mean)_

Elsie didn't drive often. Living in the city, there really wasn't much need. But Doctor Clarkson had advised Charles that he still needed to be the passenger for this trip, just in case. Therefore, Elsie was currently behind the wheel of their hire car negotiating her way along the unfamiliar slick roads.

Thankfully, Charlie never made any comment on her slow pace. Nor did he give her any helpful 'tips' on how to drive, like he would normally. In fact they hadn't spoken more than two words to each other since they'd left the Christmas markets.

"I don't want you to go to Ripon," she'd whispered after he'd told her of his interest in working and, presumably, living in the Yorkshire city on a permanent basis.

"You don't like Ripon?"

"I've never been there," she answered honestly.

"It's quite nice. Do you think it's too small? There's York, I suppose. Sheffield. Scarborough. A water view would make a nice change."

Elsie looked over his shoulder, around the stalls and the happy families, the couples holding hands. She was fast approaching her sixtieth birthday. Charles was nearly a decade older. They'd known each other nearly twenty years. Why did she ever think their relationship would change into anything romantic?

"I've taken you by surprise, haven't I," he said.

She looked up then, his demeanour had become as tense as hers.

"Forgive me," he went on. "It's completely unfair of me. I've been thinking about this idea for weeks, but I just spring it on you tonight and expect you to catch up."

Elsie opened her mouth to speak but he quickly held up his hand to stop her.

"It might be just a pipe dream anyway. Let's wait until we see the shop, shall we?"

She'd simply nodded and they'd continued on to the taxi rank where, blessedly, they hadn't had to wait.

Andy had pulled up outside the flat at the same time as their taxi, saving her from having to make small talk with Charlie following their short ride. After unpacking her gifts from Andy's car, the men had sat and chatted, giving her an easy excuse to escape quickly to the upper floor.

This morning they'd quickly packed the car and set off, all without needing to discuss details.

Charles interrupted her thoughts. "Ripon's the third smallest city in England."

She squinted out the windscreen. This was his first comment for over an hour.

"Left here," he directed. "Famous for its spurs."

"Spurs?" she prompted, raising her eyes. "Like… Riding spurs?"

"Yes. Imagine. And religion. Mary, Queen of Scots famously stayed in Ripon."

"Oh dear. I suppose the Scots attacked the city several times during the 13th century too."

He chuckled and she released a relieved sigh at the sound.

"I believe the people of Ripon paid them quite a bit to prevent their invasions. Right at this intersection."

"You've visited Ripon before then?" she asked as he continued to direct her confidently.

"I was born here."

She took her eyes off the road to flash him a shocked look but she couldn't see his expression. His head was turned as he gazed out the car window at the passing scenery.

"I was seventeen when I left."

"You've never said."

"It didn't seem important to recently."

She gripped the steering wheel, feeling upset that she had never asked him where he'd grown up. His silence on the trip to the north Yorkshire city probably had nothing to do with her. Once again, she was being ridiculously self absorbed.

Ten minutes later they had found a parking space and were walking along the high street.

"My first job was for the railway. I was let go as part of the Beeching cuts."

"Many were," she remarked sympathetically.

"My father acted like it was something I'd done and it was nothing to do with the lines closing. He implied that they were only dismissing me because I'd dabbled in acting as well as many other supposed wild choices I made, such as drinking wine instead of lager." He snorted. "If he'd lived to see the carry-on of the young ones today…"

She bit her lip. It seemed inane to say she was sorry yet again. His reaction to Granthams' future now made much more sense.

He stopped suddenly and she nearly ran into him. They were in front of the store claiming to be Velvet Underground. It was closed. There was a sign on the front of store announcing the shop was 'For Sale or Lease'. Another smaller sign stated it was shut for the holidays and wouldn't reopen until the 2nd of January.

"I've brought you on a wild goose chase," he lamented.

She cupped her hands and peered in through the window. After a brief moment, Charlie followed suit.

"It looks like it could be a good space if you cleaned it up a bit," she said. The shop was in darkness, she'd concede, but it was still jammed with so many items it would be difficult to imagine anyone being able to differentiate between trash and treasure. A few glass cabinets which obviously held jewellery lined one wall tidily but mostly its supposedly antique and collectible items were strewn around willy-nilly. Vintage clothing lay amongst crockery and larger pieces of furniture. It didn't appear that anything was grouped alike.

"Look at that row of candlestick telephones at the front," Charles said, disproving her thought somewhat. "You're right though, there's lots of space if it was used more wisely. I was hoping there'd be enough room for an old fashioned tea room, and I think there could be," he said, his voice rising excitedly.

She straightened, depressed at the complexity of his plans, and stepped away from the window. Charles had retrieved his mobile and was snapping off photos of the outside of the shop, including the realtor's sign for their phone numbers.

He then turned, catching her before she could school her features which were surely reflecting her devastation that he might not be by her side at Granthams for much longer. Thankfully he misinterpreted her look. "You don't think the tea room is a good idea? Books are still selling well, despite this whole ebook revolution," he continued conversationally as he led her back to the car. "New items in amongst the older wares? You obviously haven't had much time to think about it yet, but I'm sure you'll come up with some excellent ideas."

Charles's mood during the trip from Ripon to the castle they'd be staying at for Mary Crawley's wedding was almost the exact opposite to their trip up from Leeds. He nattered nonstop. He rambled on about the store's passing pedestrian traffic, taking advantage of race days and how to market and advertise it. He didn't seem to notice her unresponsiveness.

When they pulled into the castle grounds, she was left even more speechless. Acres of woodland and gardens were spread out on both sides of the long winding driveway. The castle itself loomed on the top of a rise. Its medieval stone facade stretching an impressive width. Obviously Mary Crawley hadn't received the memo regarding prudence in these tough economic times.

"I wasn't expecting something so… It's like something out of an Austen novel."

"And why not? You don't think Mary deserves the best for her wedding?"

She swallowed down her reply that as it was Mary's third wedding in the same number of years, she couldn't be sure.

Instead, she said, "Let's check in first, we can come back for our bags."

Their feet crunched across the gravel driveway that looped around the front of the imposing three storey mansion.

The castle's front entryway had been converted to a reception area, with a counter (manufactured in such a way to replicate the heavy front timber door) added near the base of its wide staircase. There was a small souvenir cum coffee shop to one side of the counter. Several people sat drinking tea from bone china tea sets or pouring coffee from silver pots.

"Good morning! Look at you two then? We only put that up this very morning and you're the first ones to stop right under." The receptionist had come from behind the counter. She was older than Elsie, maybe even older than Charlie, with shoulder length hair that had been dyed a sandy blonde colour that clashed a little with her lined face. The name badge pinned to her dark blue dress told them her name was Gladys. "Put one on your wife then, go on," Gladys ordered, pointing upwards.

Confused, both she and Charlie followed her cue to look above them. There sat a sprig of mistletoe. Elsie glanced across the rest of the ceiling and realised they were indeed beneath the one and only piece which had been hooked to the ceiling, due to its pitch she supposed. Feeling eyes upon her, she glanced around the foyer and the coffee shop and saw they were the centre of attention. Nearly everyone lingering in the vicinity was looking on expectantly.

"Come on, love. The mistletoe magic must live on." Gladys's voice seemed to be in direct contrast to their aristocratic surroundings. "Give your missus a kiss."

Elsie braced herself, as if she was about to place her head upon the guillotine. Charles didn't move a muscle, but instead said, "We simply came to check into our room, not to put on a show."

"Shame," Gladys said, swinging around and moving behind the counter once more. "What's the name then, Casanova?"

Charles made a grumbling noise before he, with a short snap, simply replied, "Carson."

Gladys frowned at the screen of her computer for a moment and then leaned behind her to grab keys from a slot in the wall. "Mr and Mrs Carson, Queen Anne suite, no less," she said, passing them two identically tagged keys.

"It's Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes," Charles corrected.

"How risque," Gladys drawled. "Now, Queen Anne is on the second floor. I've got here noted that you might need to use the elevator. You'll find it behind the coffee shop area, just left of the public toilets. You'll need your key to operate it. You have late check out on Monday morning, half eleven. Everything's been paid for by Ms Crawley. She's even added her credit card to your account should you have anything from the minibar." She paused and raised her eyebrow at this. "The wedding preparations are underway in the west wing, but we're asking for guests to avoid the area until two o'clock this afternoon. The ceremony is at three, just in case you're like some of the other guests and have forgotten."

Elsie snuck a look at Charlie's face and grimaced at the stony expression that had settled over it.

"Do you need help in with your luggage?" Gladys asked when neither she nor Charlie budged.

"No, but we do need another room. There should be two bookings. One for Carson, and one for Mrs Hughes."

Gladys frowned and consulted her computer again. "You're definitely the one booking. We confirmed everything with Ms Crawley. She's listed you as staying in the same suite. And we're fully booked with other guests, I'm afraid." She scrolled with her mouse and clicked on the screen in several places. "Unless someone doesn't turn up for their allocated room, it looks like you're sharing, Mr Carson."

"Unacceptable," Charles snapped just a little too quickly, jarring Elsie's nerves. "Is there someone else I can speak to? Do you have a superior?"

"There is this funny little man called Septimus, would you believe, but he's avoiding the area." Gladys, completely unafraid of Charles's grumpy demeanour, it seemed, turned to Elsie. "He's scared of the mistletoe as well. Seems like we can pick them, Mrs Hughes."

"Mrs Hughes hasn't-" Charles roared, but Gladys cut him off.

"It's a _suite,_ " she stressed. "Your chastity will be safe." She pushed the keys towards them again. "Go and have a drink, in the suite or in the coffee shop. Mrs Hughes probably wants a bit of wine to fortify herself," the woman said, continuing to goad. "Or take a walk around the grounds if you're made of stern enough stuff. I have your mobile listed as" -she rattled off Charlie's number and they nodded confirmation that it was correct- "and I'll call you if anything changes."


	22. If Every Day was Like Christmas

_Chapter 22: If Every Day was Like Christmas (V is for Velvet -ribbons, bows, dresses, someone's voice …) Or as I like to call it The Chapter with the Ridiculously Long Wordcount_

"Maybe we should go and see the suite first," Elsie suggested when it became apparent Gladys was not going to offer an alternate room. "I didn't like the idea of not being able to check on you in the night anyway," she added, looking for some silver lining.

"Doctor Clarkson thinks you can let Ethel go as soon as we get back."

"Oh? I wish I could find a job for her somewhere at Granthams."

He only puckered his lips at this idea as he grabbed her elbow and led her away from the counter.

"You don't want to try the stairs?" she asked, a little breathless at the idea.

"No. Yes." He inhaled. "Yes. But…"

He hesitated just long enough to make her feel self-conscious as they hovered amongst the customers in the coffee shop, so she smiled encouragingly and quickly said, "Maybe you'll feel more up to it later."

He simply cleared his throat as a reply.

The lift, when it opened, was extremely small. Obviously it had only been installed when the castle had started offering accommodation. Elsie assumed it was the correct size for someone in a wheelchair, but only just, she thought. She could do little to avoid brushing up against Charlie's body as they squeezed into it together.

"Maybe I should take the stairs-"

"No, no. If I should get stuck in this thing, I at least want to be stuck with you."

She laughed and glanced up at the cabin's roof. "There's no mistletoe anyway," she noted as he fiddled with pressing their floor's button and turning his key at the same time.

"Hmph. I refuse to make a spectacle of you in public, Elsie." The elevator made a whining noise and began to creep upwards. "I did enough of that at Beryl's party when Alice turned up. Just like I don't wish the family to think you're acting inappropriately by sharing a room with a male member of the staff."

"Oh, Charlie, no one will care, it's not the 1920s."

"Nevertheless, I-"

The elevator crunched to a stop and she flew forwards, thumping into his bulk. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady. He'd hunched his body slightly, meaning his face was lowered and his lips were close to hers. Their gazes locked. She resisted the urge to bite her bottom lip and flicked her tongue across it instead. His eyes followed the movement.

"Charlie, I-"

The lift emitted another ominous noise before it dropped slightly, jarring them around again.

Their heavy breathing filled the small cabin as they remained frozen in place, waiting for the lift to make its next move. Its doors had not opened.

Eventually Elsie felt brave enough to look over Charlie's shoulder.

"Do you think we should try the key?" She would wonder later just why she was whispering.

"That might work," he agreed, straightening and pulling her upright at the same time. He kept one hand on hers, however, as he turned to the control unit and twisted the key to the right.

The lift made yet another crunching sound but the doors did in fact roll open slowly. They both quickly stepped out before the doors had any chance of closing them in again.

"Are you okay, Elsie?"

"Other than nearly having a heart attack, I…" She gasped, realising just what she'd said. "Oh! Charlie! I didn't mean… It's a silly saying…"

He chuckled and squeezed the hand he hadn't yet released gently. "I'm not that much of a delicate flower that you need to walk on eggshells, Elsie. You're right though. I think we'd better check my blood pressure too after that ride."

An unobtrusive sign near their exit indicated they were on the second floor. They then spotted _Queen Anne_ on the door opposite them.

"In fact," he added as he unlocked and pushed open that door, "after that shaky ride I'll be risking the stairs a bit sooner than I had planned."

"When had you planned to attempt them originally?" she asked, nonchalant.

He didn't answer. Instead, he was spinning around in the entrance way of the room he'd just opened. She didn't push things and instead looked around too.

This room, she soon perceived, was the main bedroom of their suite. A bathroom was visible at the far end of the room, and another smaller bedroom ran directly opposite the main entrance.

She stepped forwards and peered into that smaller bedroom. "There's a single bed," she said, literally ignoring the large one in the main area. Next, she slowly appreciated the rest of the suite's opulence.

Other than the beds, there were several pieces of polished wood antique furniture including two writing desks, an armoire, a set of drawers and a blanket box. The cream fabric of the French style armchairs, patterned with tiny red roses, matched a chaise lounge which romantically lounged beneath a bay window.

Shamefully, her gaze flitted to the large bed against her will. Its spread was a lush deep red velvet, which evoked images of her and Charlie sinking into it and... Jerkily, she turned and walked over to the matching velvet drapes. Sliding them open, she revealed another bay window.

The view was impressive. The grounds seemed to stretch on forever. She wondered how it would look in the warmer seasons when the many patches of gardens she could see bloomed with flowers and the grove of fruit trees weren't woody and stark as they'd become now in the grip of winter.

"It's beautiful, even now when nothing is as bright as it once was," she softly conceded.

"Very," Charlie murmured.

She turned and he was looking straight at her, almost studying her intently. Blushing from his scrutiny, she scanned the room again. This time she noticed there was a portrait of Queen Anne hanging over the fireplace. A fireplace which was devoid of wood, she saw.

"Gladys isn't trusting guests not to burn down the house, it seems."

"Now that I won't hold against her. These old houses would go up like a light."

She nodded and was then overcome with a wave of awkwardness. She dithered by the window whilst he did the same by the bed, both making a show of looking around the room some more.

Thankfully, they were both saved from further discomfort by a knock on the door.

Shrugging, he moved to open it. As he did someone instantly darted into the room and flung themselves around Elsie's legs, greeting her with a 'Merry Christmas' muffled against the woollen material of her thick slacks.

"Heavens!"

Once Elsie recognised her assailant, she quickly lifted her into her arms. She returned the dark haired angel's sweet smile, with tears in her eyes. She looked over the child's shoulder. There, looking too fresh faced to be the child's father, was a muscle bound man with sandy hair. His grin was as wide as a Cheshire cat's.

"What a lovely surprise!" Elsie cried as she wrapped Tom and Sybbie up with more hugs and kisses. They only broke off to greet Charles. Tom did so tentatively but respectfully, and Sybbie much more exuberantly, jumping up into Charlie's arms.

"Careful, Sybbie, Mr Carson hasn't been well," Tom said, easing the child from Charles and setting her down on the ground.

"We didn't know you were coming."

"Are they expecting you?" Charles asked, not unkindly.

"I only confirmed it this morning. I didn't want to disappoint anyone if there was an issue with flights."

"Da!" Sybbie poked her head into the smaller bedroom's doorway. "They have a single bed here!" Sybbie then turned her attention to Charles. "Can I sleep in the little bed, while you and Mrs Hugh share the big bed?" she asked, all innocence.

"I'm afraid not, poppet," Tom instantly interrupted his child's naive proposal. Then, addressing Elsie and Charles, he explained, "Our room only has one, rather small, double bed and little miss here is quite put out that she'll need to share it with her father. But I believe Mary had to juggle things around as it was."

Elsie and Charlie shared a guilty look. Mary had manipulated their booking to accommodate her brother-in-law and niece obviously.

"I still can't quite believe you're here," Elsie said.

"I could hardly miss the wedding now, could I?"

The way Tom posed that question, looking from Elsie to Charlie and back again, made her almost believe she and Charlie were the ones about to take their vows in a few hours time. She ignored that tug of desire, however, and took a seat at one of the desks, twittering on about planes and Boston and the weather and everything else except the wedding that wasn't really _her_ wedding, despite the invitations.

"Oh, I must call up about Velvet Underground," Charlie announced after they'd made tea and chatted for quite a while.

"Dare I ask?"

Charlie gave Elsie a look at Tom's remark. "I told you it sounds like a brothel." Then, he turned to Tom to explain. "Elsie and I are thinking about semi-retirement. There's a shop in Ripon I'm quite keen on inspecting, and finding out about its price."

"You're buying a shop?"

"Yes, with Elsie as my partner."

As Charlie made his call, making an appointment for lunch time Monday, Elsie's mind tilted and righted itself at least three times.

"You don't look so sure," Tom murmured.

She glanced across at her surrogate son. She supposed her face _had_ drained of blood. She was glad to be sitting in the chair with arms as she gripped them tightly to prevent her upper body from swaying.

Elsie opened her mouth to speak, but no sound was forthcoming. _With Elsie as my partner_ , Charlie'd said. The conversation she'd had with Beryl flashed through her mind.

She exhaled her breath in a huff. Obviously he wasn't meaning partner in the sexual sense. Yet...

She couldn't stop thinking about the way he's spoken of his plans all this time. He'd always expected her to go into the business with him.

There would be consequences of agreeing to such a proposal. He meant a _business_ partner, she repeated. Could she cope with just a business partner? Could she cope with letting someone else take on that role? The idea of working with Charlie in such a confined space, day in and day out. In Ripon… She wouldn't be able to hide behind millions of people as in London.

"Are you okay, Elsie?" Charlie, who'd just hung up from his call, asked.

"Do you have anyone else in mind?" she blurted out.

"What do you mean?"

"For the business. Have you any other potential partners. Joe or…"

"No! Of course not!"

Elsie held Charlie's gaze, forgetting Tom and Sybbie were in the room for the moment. His soft brown eyes were focused completely and utterly on her in a most endearing way. Her stomach clenched with attraction and her heart sped with love. There was no way she could refuse.

"As long as you're sure… My limited funds..."

"Of course I'm sure," he said in that arrogant way of his. "And don't worry about your limited funds, we'll work something out."

Elsie jumped up, made a show of making another cup of tea for herself, hoping her shaking (due to excitement? exhilaration?) hands weren't noticeable to the others.

"Sybbie, do you…" She trailed off when she turned towards where they child had been sitting, quietly playing with her doll.

It appeared the flight from America and the subsequent car trip from London to Leeds all in the space of 24 hours was too much for her and she was slumped on the chaise lounge asleep.

"Why don't you leave her here whilst you go get dressed for the wedding, Tom," Elsie offered. "I'm sure we can keep her occupied should she wake."

Tom agreed but reluctantly, not wanting to cause anyone extra work. Before he left, however, they revealed that she and Charlie were yet to retrieve their overnight bags, prompting Tom to offer to go to the car for them. It was then decided that both men should change in Tom's room whilst Elsie took advantage of the suite.

Half an hour later, she was ready and gently waking Sybbie to wash her face, comb her hair and change into a pretty pink dress her father had delivered along with Elsie's bag.

"There," Elsie said, doing up the dark velvet bow at Sybbie's waist. "I think we're ready. What do you think?"

"I think we should tell Da and Charlie our real names when we see them."

"And whatever would our real names be?"

Sybbie's only answer was a grin and to take Elsie's hand.

Elsie glanced into the mirror in the hallway outside their suite before she and Sybbie descended the stairs. Phyllis Baxter had chosen her outfit. Its first layer was a silver dress, a thin sheath of material which could be almost classed as a slip. It clung to her concernedly, but Phyllis had insisted it made her look more 'seductive' than fleshy. She could never wear the dress alone, however, so Phyllis had chosen a flowing maroon coat with faux fur cuffs and collar. There were specks of gold velvet threaded through the coat's material, making it shimmer as she walked. Elsie would have never have looked twice at the coat, in normal circumstances, but like everything Phyllis fashioned together, it looked perfect.

She'd pinned up her hair as usual, but with wisps falling out. She'd worn it in the same manner for Beryl's opening night. For one mad moment she thought of changing the style, considering how that evening had turned out.

Sybbie tugging her hand impatiently made her realise it was too late to change the style, however.

When they reached the landing, they saw Charlie and Tom's heads together, deep in conversation, at the foot of the stairs (had Charlie descended them or caught that awful lift again?). Both men wore tuxedos.

Then Charlie turned and she got the full force of his handsomeness in the outfit. The black pants and jacket teamed with the white shirt accentuated his height and the width of his chest.

He was contemplating her outfit too, it seemed. His eyes drifted from her hairdo, down across the curves it was highlighting, and back up again.

Something stirred low in her belly. She gripped the railing of the stairs as she descended should she stumble. The silken material tangling with her thighs as she walked tantalised her even further.

Thankfully Sybbie twirled down the stairs and danced in front of her father and Charlie, distracting them all.

"My name is princess Sybbie! And this isn't Princess Elsa, but Princess Elsie!" Sybbie laughed hysterically at her own joke, making the adults all snort.

"In that case," Tom said, hoisting his daughter up into his arms, "we must be your Prince Charmings and we need to whisk you girls away to be happy ever after."

"Yes!" Sybbie cried.

Charlie took a step forwards and Elsie let him take her elbow, as she always did.

Next, he surprised her by agreeing with Sybbie's sentiment. Unlike Sybbie's high pitched shriek, however, he rasped the word. "Yes," he said, near her ear, his low tone as smooth as velvet, eliciting a shiver.


	23. White Christmas

_Chapter 23: White Christmas (W is for Weather - "outside is frightful," or "walking in a winter wonderland," or it could be ridiculously, unacceptably warm outside.)_

Tom guided them through to the castle's west wing where, as Gladys had said, the wedding was taking place.

"I thought Henry might have asked you to be best man, Tom," Elsie remarked.

"They're not bothering with attendants. It's pretty lowkey."

They walked into what once must have been a ballroom just as Tom said that last statement.

"Lowkey?" Elsie arched an eyebrow. There was nothing particular lowkey about the room.

"It's like a winter wonderland," Charles said with a happy sigh. And Elsie would admit that was an excellent way to describe it.

There was a forest of Christmas trees in one corner, all sparkling with fake snow on their leaves and baubles bending their branches. Hanging mobiles of snowflake shapes danced down from the ceiling. Fairy lights crisscrossed their way around the room.

On each table, the white Christmas theme continued. Stark white tablecloths were covered with white and silver party favours. White baubles held place cards for the seating arrangements. Tall glass vases held pinecones and branches all spray painted white. Squat glass vases contained flickering white candles. Small bowls of chocolates covered with coconut were set out to tempt guests.

There was no live music, but popular Christmas songs were being piped into the room via hidden speakers.

The other guests, already gathered near the clump of Christmas trees, were talking amongst themselves whilst they waited for the bride. Henry Talbot, wearing a grey morning suit, paced beside an official looking woman holding a clipboard whom Elsie assumed was the marriage celebrant.

"Hello," Tom said, announcing his presence and eliciting much excitement from the Crawley family.

As Elsie looked on happily at the enthusiastic greeting the family were giving Tom and Sybbie, Charles went in search of a drink for everyone.

"It's a celebration, after all," he'd murmured near her ear as he left.

So she suddenly found herself alone when the Crawleys turned as one in her direction. "Mrs…" Robert Crawley started before pausing and glancing over at his wife. Cora gave him a sour look. Then, he finished his greeting, but it wasn't one Elsie had anticipated. "Congratulations, Mrs Carson!"

Elsie blinked. Before she could speak, however, she was jostled into a hug with Cora Crawley. When her employer released her, she stepped back and immediately looked for Charlie. He was deep in conversation with Henry Talbot and a moon-faced barkeep. Surely the family could now see Henry Talbot was dressed as the intended groom?

"Marrying in a private ceremony," Violet Crawley scoffed. "Such things were unheard of in my day."

"Mother, you would have never done such a thing because you always need to be the centre of attention. Charles and Elsie wanted privacy and quiet."

Tom gave his father-in-law a bemused look. "What's this then?" he asked.

"Charles and Elsie tied the knot, privately, yesterday apparently," Robert said. "They didn't want a fuss like this."

Tom turned to Elsie. "You didn't tell me."

Elsie knew it was a given that there was no hope for her bottom lip in this situation.

"I'm sure Mrs Carson has been so swept off her feet she hasn't had a chance," Cora excused her apparent ill-mannered behaviour. Thankfully, as Elsie doubted her own voice would work to defend herself right now.

Elsie stared across at Charlie again. As if he had some sixth sense, he looked up, straight at her. He bent his head to say something to the other men before turning and marching straight towards her.

After greeting the family politely as a collective, he frowned at Elsie. "Are you okay, Elsie? You look a little off colour."

"Did you bring that drink?" she asked.

His frowned deepened, but he lifted a chilled bottle of Chablis he'd been holding in one hand. "Would you like a glass?"

"Yes. _Please_." She said that adverb with such emphasis that he inhaled audibly.

He offered her one of the several glasses he held by their stems in his other hand and she quickly spun it around.

"Hold steady," he murmured as he poured the wine.

She was already taking a sip when he passed the other glasses out to the family and poured more wine.

Once Charlie had finished, Robert lifted his glass for a toast. "To the happy couple," he said cheerfully.

"The happy couple," everyone but Elsie repeated.

Violet Crawley started reminiscing about her wedding day, giving Elsie a chance to snag Charlie by the sleeve. Obediently he followed her to the far corner of the ballroom.

"Elsie?"

"The family think we're married."

"They thought we were going to be married, but Henry filled them in earlier."

"No," she said, stretching the word out fully with her accent. "They think we got married yesterday in a private ceremony. How on earth would they get that idea?"

"I don't know! I-" He broke off and pursed his lips. "Oh…"

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe it was… That is… I told Joseph Molesley we were marrying. I didn't want him to think I was leaving Granthams because of my health." His Adam's apple visibly bobbled. "It just slipped out that we were leaving because we were marrying."

"Just slipped out?" she sniped. "In secret? A few days before Christmas?"

He tugged at the hem of his jacket. "Well… He might have jumped to conclusions on that score."

"And you let him," she supposed.

They both took a hefty gulp of alcohol.

"I thought we'd be a bit of a nine day wonder amongst the staff. Or that he would have told Beryl and she'd set him straight. Eventually."

"Eventually," she repeated. "I can't be hearing this right."

"I didn't think he'd tell the Crawleys."

She rolled her eyes. "Joseph Molesley has never kept a secret in his entire life!"

She peered across at his face. It was so unlike Charles to evoke unwanted attention. Was his personality changing due to his illness? This was apparently a common thing, according to the book Beryl had purchased. "Why were you worried about my reputation?" she asked slowly. "If you want people to think we're married, why are you worried what they'll think if we are sharing a bed in the Queen Anne?"

"Oh." She watched his already red face bloom a darker shade. "I forgot."

She gasped at this piece of information. "You forgot you were married!" she cried.

"I've only been married one day," he hissed. "I was single for 66 years! It will take a bit of adjustment."

Her jaw dropped. Then, she suddenly realised how ridiculous their conversation had become and began to laugh. His chuckle soon joined in.

"I'm sorry, Elsie," he said. He looked across to the Crawleys. "Let me go and explain."

He'd only taken a few steps towards the Crawleys when he paused, spun on his heel and returned to her side. "Or…"

"Or?" she prompted him to finish his thought.

"Or we could simply… I mean, it would make sense."

"What would?"

"For us to marry. It _would_ save face with leaving Granthams, just as it would make it much easier to stitch up the partnership. If I should… Fall ill… Again. It will make it easier for you to control things, so to speak."

She stepped forward and grabbed his free hand. "Doctor Clarkson gave you an almost clean bill of health, you said!"

"Oh yes, but… Just in case. I would like to know that I don't leave you in any type of tangle should I kick the bucket."

"It's wishful thinking if you think you can somehow turn this entire deceitful act around to make it sound like you were doing me a favour." She took another long drink. At this rate she'd be too drunk to continue with the conversation.

"It is wishful thinking," he murmured. "You agreeing to marry me." He took her drink and put it and his on one of the tables. Next, he took her both her hands and squeezed them tightly. "I wish you would. Agree to marry me, that is, Elsie."

"We're already married, apparently," she said, unable to stop her tongue from being flippant.

"I'm serious, Elsie. I would have asked you earlier but I thought you'd scoff at the idea, say we're not characters in an ITV period drama and that marriage wasn't important these days. And if you still think that way then I'll… accept it."

She gulped. Having some sort of lasting power of attorney would be a good idea, but...Over his head she saw the family moving away from their huddle and forming lines behind the celebrant. Henry searched the doorway, expecting his bride at any moment. "Mary must be on her way.".

Charlie turned around just as Gladys appeared in the doorway. She scurried over to the celebrant and spoke in her ear before the music changed. Frank Sinatra began to croon White Christmas. Mary Crawley hovered in the room's doorway.

The younger woman spied Charlie hiding with her in the corner and smiled winningly. Elsie watched as he returned that smile. Their conversation, about marriage between them of all things, would need to wait.

She gripped Charlie's hand and urged him to the dance floor edge to take their place behind the Crawleys.

Elsie would admit her attention drifted throughout the ceremony.

Charlie had asked her to marry him, in a fashion. It wasn't the bended knee of a young girl's dreams, but it was still a proposal that needed a yes or no answer.

She ran the arguments for and against around in her mind. The list of reasons to refuse could fill a book. She could only come up with one reason to accept - she was in love with him.

She should be enraged that Charlie used her in some game of oneupmanship with Joe, but she wasn't. After all, she hadn't instantly denied anything when she was speaking with the Crawleys. They were both guilty of trying to not seem foolish.

She bent her head and leaned on his shoulder. "Yes," she whispered.

He remained silent but the pressure on her hand suggested he'd heard her and understood.


	24. Santa Baby

_Chapter 24: Santa Baby (X is for Xmas Eve)_

Once they were finally done with the formal part of the ceremony, Mary and Henry posed for photos with the Christmas trees as their backdrop.

Elsie remembered her wedding day as clearly as if it was yesterday. She and Joe certainly hadn't married anywhere as grand as this ballroom or with such glitz. St Stephens, the local church, had been decorated with some flowers at the end of its pews and that was it.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of flashing cameras and mobiles, the newly married couple threaded their way through the guests who were milling around chatting until they arrived in front of Charles and Elsie.

Mary tilted her cheek for Charles's kiss before addressing Elsie more cautiously. "I'm so pleased you could make it, Mrs Hughes," she said.

"Mrs Carson." Cora Crawley came up beside them to correct her daughter.

Mary looked at her mother as if she was mad. "We only told you Mrs Hughes was marrying Charles to get you here, mother," she said, her tone patronising.

"Yes, yes. But apparently the idea was appealing," Cora said, smiling.

Slowly, deliberately so, Mary swivelled to face Charlie. "So, I wasn't to be a guest at your wedding?"

Charlie blanched. "Um yes… I… That is…"

"We will have a reception," Elsie said definitely, not just to Mary but to Charlie too. "Nothing as unusual or stunning as this, but I'd like some of our friends to be there - Beryl, Bill."

"That sounds nice," Charlie said softly. Then, in a more confident tone: "All the Crawleys will be invited, of course."

Mary's brow was still creased at the idea. "I still don't understand why you had to rush and get married-"

"There's the obvious reason, dear," Violet, wheeling her rolling walker closer, butted in.

Everyone, including a reddening Elsie and Charlie, turned towards the elderly Crawley.

"Granny, don't be silly. Mr and Mrs Carson are-"

"Not dead yet," Violet finished with a wink in their direction.

Elsie stared at her feet. By her side, she felt Charlie rocking from foot to foot. Then, suddenly he clapped his hands together. "Anyone for a drink?" he asked.

A few minutes later, when the conversation had turned general at last, Elsie managed to excuse herself. In the ladies room, she closed the toilet lid and sat down, retrieving her mobile from her clutch purse. Clicking on her messages, it was soon apparent she didn't need to tell Beryl the news. Joe had already broken it.

"No," she typed, "we haven't really married (long story, he's an old fool basically) but he's asked me to."

She pressed send and waited. She assumed Beryl would be busting with curiosity at Joe's claims and would be checking her phone constantly. She was proven correct when it buzzed almost immediately. Beryl's answer was simply a plethora of emojis. Elsie stared at them, trying to decipher their meaning. The champagne bottle and party poppers were obvious, she supposed, along with the hearts and kisses.

Her mobile buzzed again. "Please tell me he's good between the sheets. I couldn't stand it if all this is for another dud."

Beryl always did have a way of getting to the nitty gritty of the matter. "I don't know. We haven't." Elsie read those two sentences and realised she didn't really need to add anything more, so she hit the send button.

"What?! Why not?" Beryl's message pinged back immediately.

Elsie sighed and closed her eyes. Before she could answer her mobile buzzed again. "Heartattack is no excuse." She could almost hear Beryl's nasally Northern accent saying this. "Other things can be done don't forget." Elsie blushed as she thought about _that_ statement.

"Maybe he doesn't want to," she typed.

"Of course he does," Beryl replied. "He asked you to marry him didn't he."

"Maybe a business decision," she confessed.

"Bollocks. Charlie's been mad for you for years."

"That I doubt," she replied.

An emoji appears on her screen again. She peered at it, uncertain. It was rolling its eyes perhaps? Before she could ask, Beryl sent another text: "Has he given you your xmas gift?"

She remembered the night of Beryl's opening. Charlie dressed as santa, looking ridiculous but ever so handsome at the same time. He'd hovered on the step, their faces so close, and told her she'd be receiving a special gift.

Her fingers trembled a little as she told Beryl he hadn't given her any gift.

"It might be sexy lingerie," Beryl suggested.

Elsie laughed. "I hope not. I'm too old for that rot," she wrote.

"He'll want to get your knickers off still. Everyone wants to at our age remember."

"That's hardly building up my confidence," she replied just as she heard a door open and shut. "Gotta go. Someone else in loos."

When Elsie returned to the reception, she found everyone had found their places and the first course was being served.

"Everything okay, Elsie?" Charles asked as she took her seat opposite him.

"Yes, fine," she said breezily, desperately trying to forget that she was in fact wearing her best knickers. They weren't anything particularly racy, but they weren't sagging or threadbare. She wriggled in the seat, trying not to think about them or Charlie hooking one finger onto their elastic band and lowering them slowly, the back of his hand skimming along her thighs as he worked them down…

Elsie closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel that image. Beryl was a bad influence.

Gratefully, as dinner proceeded, the noise of the other guests drowned out her silence. Like most of the work affairs she'd shared with the Crawleys, their dinner consisted of posh settings, low lighting and small portions. At those events Charlie, of course, had sat in the middle, bridging the great divide which might have caused awkwardness otherwise. He was always that one employee the family favoured over all others.

Tonight, the table was crowded enough that no one expected her to keep up a steady flow of chatter. Instead she began to watch Charlie intensely as he ate.

Joe had eaten like it was any other chore he had in life. He'd heap food into his mouth and cut his next bite as he chewed, without looking up or pausing. She remembered him shovelling each new forkful in as soon as he swallowed the one before. They rarely spoke as they ate. And rarely would he have noticed if she'd enjoyed her meal or not.

Charlie cut the steak he'd received for a main course up precisely and slowly. His long fingers held the cutlery firmly, slicing through the meat with sure strokes. In between bites he'd roll the food around his mouth, savouring each mouthful.

Her mind wandered to whether or not the way a man ate was a metaphor for the way he made love…

At that exact moment, Charlie looked up and held her gaze. Surely he couldn't read her mind.

He took a sip of wine, keeping a delicate hold upon his glass's stem.

She lifted her serviette to her mouth and wiped at some imaginary crumbs. She needed to be less obvious…

A bell made her jump and drew her attention away from her wild thoughts of her mouth and his hands. The ringing was a glass being hit by the edge of a piece of cutlery to quieten everyone so a series of speeches could be delivered.

Afterwards, they announced there'd be dancing. Elsie had to bite her tongue at the idea. She hardly thought a Christmas playlist was going to incite a stampede to reach the dancefloor.

At their reception, she and Joe had taken to the dancefloor for the obligatory bridal waltz but after that Joe had insisted on leaving the dancing to their guests.

Throughout their marriage they hadn't socialised much in general. Farmers needed to be up too early to ever be out late. If they did venture out, it was to the local pub, where their neighbours would ensure no intimacy was involved.

Her isolated life became less so during their third year of marriage. The farm wasn't doing as well as it once had and her parents' small inheritance soon disappeared, meaning she actively had to search for a job to ensure payment for Becky's care was up to date. She'd found one at Granthams York.

Along with their lack of children for she and Joe to bond over, the independence she gained from working at Granthams had, she would admit, played a part in their marriage breaking down.

She could honestly say Charlie had played no part in its demise. She'd already moved out of the farmhouse and into a small bedsit in London when she'd met him. The faint thought that he was quite handsome had passed through her mind at the time, but romantic or sexual attraction had never been an integral part of their relationship until recently.

"Elsie?"

She looked up. Charlie was standing by her chair, his hand out.

"Would you do me the honour?" he asked, bobbing his head towards the dancefloor which had surprisingly become quite crowded.

Kylie Minogue's version of _Santa Baby_ was blasting out of the speakers.

"So much for my prediction that no one would dance to carols," she murmured as she accepted his invitation graciously nevertheless.

"What?" he rasped as he guided her into a small corner of space on the slippery flooring.

"Do you think we could afford a band at our reception?" she asked instead of fully explaining.

He positioned her into a formal waltz position, one hand behind her back, one holding hers out.

"If that's what you want," he rasped as she slipped her free hand up to rest upon his shoulder. A shoulder that was much too thick, she thought. She squeezed it and patted it, feeling its measure quite inappropriately.

Charles responded with a sharp intake of breath before he remarked, "You've been speaking with Beryl."

Elsie tripped over her own feet at this comment. Craning her neck she studied his expression. He didn't seem angry, but he was tense. "Yes," she replied truthfully. "How did you know?"

"Because my mobile is on silent in my pocket but it has been vibrating like crazy for the last ten minutes. I took it out and read it the last time I went to the bar."

"And it was Beryl?" She pressed her lips together.

"It was."

They stood, without dancing, for a long moment. Her pale skin was surely blotchy and red. How much had her friend told him?

"Elsie…" He squeezed the hand that clasped hers. His other wrapped around her waist, tugged her closer, urged her to sway to the music once more.

"It's Christmas Eve," he murmured, his breath skimming across the top of her hair.

She leaned forwards and breathed in his comforting scent.

"Yes."

"I'd like to give you one gift early."

Her mind immediately landed in the gutter, despite the fact they'd brought their stockings and contents with them on the trip.

 _Other things can be done._ She rested her head upon his chest so that he couldn't see her still-blushing face, her mind envisioning far too many other intimate things she wanted him to do to her. With his hands. His mouth.

Joe wasn't exactly a dud, as Beryl had so eloquently put it, but his needs were basic. They had sex, usually missionary style, and that was it. Foreplay wasn't prolonged and afterwards he'd give her a quick kiss and mumble 'thanks' before falling straight to sleep. Sex was kept to the bedroom only. She didn't want adventurous erotica from Charlie, didn't expect acrobatic manoeuvres, but she was hoping for a bit of-

"Elsie…"

She immediately straightened and stepped out of the circle of his arms at the way he said her name. It was almost a…moan. A passionate moan? Yes, that was the end of her sentence, she thought. She was hoping for a bit of passion.

She placed her hands on her cheeks to cool them. She didn't need to live up to Beryl's stereotype of a desperate oldie, she told herself critically.

She needed to keep on task. "You have me terribly curious, Mr Carson," she admitted breathlessly.

She glanced around to Mary and Henry who were bopping away with young Sybbie. They still needed to cut the cake at least.

Charlie was checking his watch. "It's only quarter to nine. No one will be going anywhere just yet. I don't think they'll miss us." He looked across at the bar and nodded.

She swung around. The moon faced barman was smiling and nodding too.

"They might not even notice if we go this way." He reached out and took her elbow, leading her towards the back of the Christmas trees instead of the main entry.

Behind the trees there was a door, only it didn't look like a door. It seemed to be part of the wall except it was covered in a felt material like that of a billiards table.

"Charlie," she whispered. "Is this a green baize door?" She'd read enough Austen to recognise the concept.

He didn't answer but pushed it open, pulling her through it and closing it behind her. It was pitch black on the other side. The sound of the music was instantly muffled, making her breathing sound much louder.

"Charlie? How on earth…"

"Spratt told me about it and said I could use it instead of the lift."

"Spratt?" she wondered.

"Gladys's Septimus. But apparently she's the only one who would dare call him that. He just goes by his surname, Spratt. He's working at the bar tonight."

She inhaled and exhaled steadily in the dark.

"This was for the servants," he said, clearly warming to the subject. "The baize kept out most of the noise from each side of the door. If we go down the stairs, we'll end up in the kitchens. If we wind around, however, we'll end up on our floor."

"Wind around?"

"Yes. It's half a spiral staircase, half ramp. So fewer stairs than if we go take the grand staircase. Spratt did promise he'll get a repairman to come look at that death trap of a lift after the public holidays."

She blinked again, but still her eyes hadn't adjusted. She reached out blindly and found his arm, clung to it. "Where are the stairs?" she asked, panicked she was going to tumble down to the kitchen in a heap.

"Oh, sorry." She felt his arm flexing and then their small area lit up. He spun the arc of his mobile's torch around. "This way," he declared, striding off confidently. Thankfully, he clung to her hand.

"I hope you have that charged," she murmured. "I'm glad I don't have claustrophobia," she added.

He rubbed his thumb across the delicate veins of her wrist, reassuring her silently.

"It can't be too much of a rickety path. The servants must have done it with a lantern before electricity. There were lights but Spratt had them removed in case of a fire. Their wiring and whatnot."

"You didn't want to try the main staircase, then?" she asked, her mind still set on the idea that once he conquered them he'd be able to conquer her, to use an euphemism.

"Just saving my energy this way," he murmured around the same time she was beginning to fret he might get dizzy from the spiral.

Before she could say anything, however, he pushed open a door which, when they stepped through it, looked like a normal panel on the wall.

"What a fantastic feat of engineering and architecture!" he cried, pressing and probing at where the door joined the wall. "The whole lot! Who would have thought they'd be able to do such a thing!"

"All to hide the servants from the world," she reminded him when she thought his excitement might become too much.

With a huff, he opened the Queen Anne and they entered the room where the big bed being such a focus almost gave her an anxiety attack.

"I'll take the single bed and-"

"What?" he asked from where he stood, bent over one of the suitcases, carefully removing the red felt stockings so as not to make a mess of the rest of the suitcase contents.

"I'll take the single bed. You're much too big."

He turned, a stocking in hand, his eyebrows raised.

"I mean tall and you know it," she mock scolded.

He chuckled softly. He reached in and plucked out an envelope from the stocking stitched with an E.

"Here you go. There are various other bits of bling in there, but after reading Beryl's texts, I think you need this one tonight. To set your mind at ease."

She fidgeted with the envelope.

"Open it," he ordered softly.

Taking a deep breath, she peeled back the sticky seal and slid out four A4 pages. A solicitor's name was printed on top of each page. She read through the first few paragraphs of the first page, trying to make sense of its legal jargon.

She flicked over the pages until her legs gave out and she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

"Oh. Charlie… Am I reading this correctly?"

"Merry Christmas, Elsie. Or, should I say, Merry Christmas Eve, Elsie."


	25. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

_Chapter 25: It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Y is for Yule - Merry Christmas!) Only 12 days late! Sorry! LOL! Hopefully this chapter will make up for the delay. If you think it's too soppy, watch 6.1 again. That Carson… *happy shippy sigh*_

"Merry Christmas, Elsie."

Elsie checked the time. He was correct. It was after midnight now and Christmas Day.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie. Santa came?" she asked cheekily.

"He did indeed," Charlie said, keeping his tone prim despite her teasing. "Perhaps we should check your stocking again."

She pretended to be shocked. "Again, Mr Carson?"

He chuckled. "I meant for something other than the envelope from the solicitor."

Last night, Charlie's pre-Christmas gift had been papers he'd drawn up with Murray and Sons.

Sitting on the edge of their room's bed, she'd read the documents through, trying to sort out the main points.

"You've paid for Becky's care?"

"I've paid for the next five years. And set up a trust for the ones after that. I believe it should be enough to pay for another twenty years, taking into account inflation and potential changes in government benefits. It's attached to some investments also. So the money could increase."

"Charlie, I can't… I don't understand."

"Every cent you earn from now on will be yours to spend as you wish. On yourself."

"You can't afford-"

"Yes, I can. I haven't worked in finance this long without learning a few tricks. Even if Granthams closed tomorrow I have my fingers in enough pies that I should never be picking food out of a skip."

"Then why work at all?"

"Because I like it. That's what the heart attack proved. I like the company too."

He meant the people's company he shared? Or the company as in Granthams? She stared down at the paperwork again and noted a date on one of the pages. "Charlie? This is dated April."

He nodded slowly. "I had originally planned it as a birthday gift. Then, things went from bad to worse at the store, and Anna had her miscarriage, and..." He waved his hand around. "It just never seemed like the right time. I thought we had loads of time. Alice and my health pushed me along."

"Charlie, I can't accept."

"It's not up to you to accept," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Becky's care facility was quite happy to take my money, let me assure you."

She exhaled a short huff at his arrogance. Then an alarming idea rushed into her mind. "You did this…" She frowned. "You did this so I would have to marry you," she accused. "I couldn't say no to the man paying for my sister's care, after all."

As if she'd physically hit him, his head snapped back. "What? No!"

The papers rustled as her hands shook. "You can't do something like this - this is thousands of pounds - for just a friend."

He puffed out his chest. "You're more than just a friend, Elsie. But I won't force you to marry me because of this. It's not a threat or a payment for services rendered. It's going to give you financial freedom to make a choice. Whether your choice is to stay at Granthams or go on a cruise around the world or go into business with me, you at least have a choice."

"Did you-"

She was cut off when his mobile started ringing. He frowned at the screen for a moment before shocking Elsie when he apologised in advance, "Sorry, I have to take this."

She stared at him, flabbergasted at just what could be so important that he'd need to interrupt their conversation to take the call.

"Yes," he growled as he swiped the screen of his phone. She had assumed it was a business call, the real estate agent calling about an appointment to see Velvet Underground perhaps, but surely he wouldn't speak with such a harsh tone to any business contacts.

He eyed Elsie as he listened to the caller.

"Yes. Yes. I was trying… No. No!"

Then, she realised he must be talking about her. "Yes, she is. Yes, I asked her. What do you mean, how?" He looked so angry his nostrils were practically flaring. "Of course I want her to marry me for companionship, doesn't everyone who marries?"

That grabbed Elsie's attention.

"She thinks it's what? No! It's nothing to do with the shop."

Elsie bounced in the bed, struggling to stand but now finding she was stuck within its depths.

"I want her to be financially secure enough to make her own decisions regarding her career. I thought maybe I was railroading her and I wanted her to know I'll accept whatever she wants."

She stared at the documents, guilty. She'd known Charles Carson for over twenty years. He'd never used his position at Granthams to act in an inappropriate way. Nor would he with this offer of financial support for her sister.

"Friendship? Yes, she's my best friend. What do you mean? Of course I want-" He broke off mid-sentence and turned beet red, to the tips of his ears. "Yes," he rasped. "She's lovely, don't you think? Funny, clever and sexy. It's a potent combination and I worship the ground she walks upon."

Elsie had to look away from Charlie as he huskily uttered these words. She clumsily folded and tucked the documents back into their envelope.

"What the… I've thought about nothing but for so long, I doubt anything I've done for the past couple of months would make sense to anyone."

Elsie looked up then, as Charlie continued in a low tone: "Even when I'm receiving a letter from the queen on my hundredth birthday I'll want to make love to her."

She blinked, wondering if she would soon taste blood from biting her bottom lip.

"No, I do not need Viagra!" Even though Elsie had presumed Beryl was on the other end of the call, this comment proved it. He paused for a moment before continuing much louder: "It's not important how I know, I just do!" Then, he listened with an exasperated look on his face for a moment longer before snapping, "Perhaps you could go tell Bill."

After that comment he pressed the red button on his mobile and tossed it carelessly onto one of the room's desks before turning back towards Elsie. Feeling faint, she still sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now, just in case we aren't clear, Elsie Hughes." He grabbed her hand, dragged her up and off the bed, as if she weighed no more than a feather, so that they stood face to face. "I love you. Not in some platonic work colleague flatmate kind of way, but in a much more basic sense. So, if you don't want to sleep with me, then we should probably break things off now. Don't worry, you can tell everyone you dumped me for-" he waved a hand around vaguely- "whatever you think is suitable in this day and age."

"You want me?" she asked in a tone that emphasised her accent much more than she'd intended.

"God, yes. So much I might just make a fool out of myself the first time I touch you."

He let out one loud puff of breath and then, the room fell silent. She held his gaze for a long time until suddenly his eyes broke contact and they began to meander across her features. He studied her as if he was an artist contemplating how to sketch the contours of her face.

They both shuffled closer. Her nipples hardened by their own volition and grazed against his bulk. She craned her neck, her stomach aching from the way he was continuing to search her face until, finally, his gaze settled upon her lips.

She heard an odd noise in the room and realised it was emanating from her. And then he was bending his head, slowly, until his lips rested on hers, so gently that she shivered. She kept her eyes open, watching him as he closed his. He made a noise at the back of his throat in reply to hers. His fingers skimmed along the delicate skin of her neck, flicking back the loose wisps of hair around her ears as the soft kiss feathering her lips continued.

He disappointingly ceased kissing her and pulled back before sighing with relief. "Your answer is 'yes'?"

She had no idea what he was talking about really (maybe marriage? or purchasing the antiques store? accepting payment for Becky's care? she hoped he meant making love) but she still smiled shyly. "Whatever the question is, the answer is most definitely 'yes', Mr Carson."

He also smiled and his lips descended to hers once more.

He melted into her for this second kiss. She flattened her hands against his chest, checking his heart was still beating steadily. Her eyes remained open as she watched the emotions flit across his features as his lips fluttered against hers, his kiss remaining soft and loving.

If they had another hundred years together, she would probably still never get over the way she was bringing this big proud man to his knees figuratively. Then, an image of him literally on his knees for her made her stomach muscles clench tighter. She clung to the lapels of his jacket in case her legs gave out.

She kept hanging on when he began to deepen the kiss. His mouth widened and he teased her lips, willing them to follow suit. Slowly, her hands crept up to loop around his neck, trapping him close as she obediently opened her mouth and allowed him to taste her mouth. She tasted him in return, the wine he'd drank earlier, the musky tang on his dinner, still a hint of his toothpaste… _Him_.

He gasped and stepped back a little. Once again the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing.

Eventually, she smiled again, tentatively this time.

He reached out and took her face in his huge hands. His mouth lowered and he whispered a kiss against her nose, her eyes, her forehead.

"Do you think it would be rude if we didn't return to the wedding?" she asked. Between her legs throbbed, and her 'good' knickers would probably already be ruined, she lamented. But it was Mary's wedding, and she didn't want to pressure him into doing something he'd eventually feel very guilty about later. "My purse is still there," she said, giving him a ready excuse to return to the ballroom.

"Ah, so it is." He glanced behind her, to the bed. The envelope still sat on its edge. "I didn't mean it to be a bribe, please believe me."

"I do," she said quickly. "And we have thirty or so years to decide what we'll do with ourselves, work wise, so let's not fret."

He sighed and bent until he rested his forehead upon hers. "My Elsie, always the wise one."

"My Charlie," she murmured in reply. "Just my Charlie," she'd sighed contentedly.

She sighed now, almost four hours later, remembering how they'd slipped downstairs to the ballroom via the servants' shortcut again, giggling and holding hands like a couple of teenagers (so unlike him) the whole way.

Entering via the green baize door, they'd stayed on the dancefloor and in each other's arms for far too many songs to be deemed appropriate, until finally Tom and Sybbie had stepped in to demand a change of partners.

Later still, they'd left the ballroom and strolled together to the main staircase. At its base, when he hesitated, she turned towards him, hands on hips. "Please tell me," she'd griped, "that you won't insist on us being married _before_ you think about climbing these bloody steps."

His answer came as quite the surprise.


	26. Last Christmas

_Chapter 26: Last Christmas (Z is for Zany - go crazy - anything you want)_

 **The slight delay for this chapter was because I was unsure how far to go with regards to sex scenes for our favourite pair. It's been a while since I've written pure smut and I didn't want to be vulgar (hee). Plus, the wordcount, again, got out of hand. Anyway, here is the end result (finally!). I hope I've managed to get the right balance for it. Thanks again for everyone's reviews, as well as the reblogs and likes on tumblr. I have been so busy trying to actually write this that I haven't really responded as I usually do, but please know you've made me very happy with the amount of positive feedback.**

The second time Elsie roused on Christmas Day, it was to Charlie going crazy.

She'd slept naked for the first time in a long time but had stayed toasty due to Charlie's close proximity. Now, however, it was obvious from the chill creeping into her back and kidneys that he'd gotten out of bed.

She cracked one eyelid open and immediately saw him by the bay window. The sun was slowly rising, giving the room a muted blue glow. He was completely naked, and he was… Dancing?

Without announcing that she was awake, she watched as he twirled and shuffled around. Things jiggled that shouldn't be jiggling but she minded not one iota. She was totally in love with the crazy fool.

Next, he began to punch the air and mouth something. She peered across in the semi-darkness, trying to lipread. 'Yes' perhaps? Yes, it was, she decided. He was repeating that one affirmative word over and over.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then realised she probably shouldn't scare him. His heart had given them no trouble last night, but she didn't want to push things.

Instead, she gave an exaggerated yawn. Surreptitiously she watched him as he started from the noise. He searched the floor, for something to hide his nudity apparently, and snatched up his shirt from where they'd carelessly discarded it late last night. Clinging to his last shred of decorum, he placed it in front of his lower half and turned towards her.

"Whatever are you up to?" she asked lightly.

"Nothing," he replied, far too quickly.

"Dancing?" she teased. Then, it dawned on her. "Celebrating your exemplary performance?" she asked.

He gave her a sheepish smile.

She pulled back the covers invitingly. "Get in here you silly old fart. I'm getting cold."

"We can't have that," he said his tone full of importance.

They smoothly wrapped themselves around each other.

"This Christmas has been lovely. Thank you, Elsie."

"It's certainly been my pleasure, Charlie."

Such an understatement, she knew.

Their celebration had started on Christmas Eve.

At the base of the castle's grand staircase she'd nagged Charlie about whether or not he would make them wait until they were truly married before they had sex. He _was_ inclined to be unreasonably old fashioned at times.

"Elsie, we don't have to climb to the top straight away, do we?" he asked.

She gripped her clutch purse tightly, suddenly uncertain again.

Charlie went on: "I mean, we can just take it one step at a time. That will be okay with you?"

"You mean…" She hesitated, running through the conversation he'd had with Beryl in her mind again. She should remember he'd had a heart attack not long ago. But...their kisses? Their close dancing? Could they not still do _other things_? That must be what he was saying; that he wasn't quite capable physically, despite his claims to Beryl. "You can't get to the _top_ just yet?"

"No, no, I'm sure I can," he said, contradicting her thoughts, "but I just want you to know I haven't…" He bobbed his head, baulking for a moment before continuing: "I haven't taken the steps in...years."

She frowned, confused. "Maybe we should stop with the metaphors?"

He chuckled and then bent his head close so he didn't need to speak too loudly. "I mean I haven't slept with a woman for… More years than I want to admit. So I might be a bit...rusty. I just thought you should know in case I'm a bit of a disappointment tonight."

She drew in her breath sharply. "That's just silly!"

His thick eyebrows twitched. "But we have the rest of our days to get things right," he said pompously. "Practice makes perfect. Just tell me what-"

"No, I didn't mean you were silly. I meant I was."

He shook his head, obviously completely confused.

"It's more than a little embarrassing to admit, Charlie, that I haven't slept with anyone since I was divorced," Elsie confessed in a rush.

"You've not… Ever? Since?" His face creased. She could almost hear his brain adding and subtracting years, doing the maths.

"No. At first it felt too soon," she tried to explain. "Then, I concentrated on my career. I went on the odd date now and then. I might have kissed a man once or twice, but there was nobody that made me want to…" She waved her hand around vaguely. "Then, I just thought no one would bother. I'm no oil painting-"

"Silly woman-"

"-anymore. So it seems ironic that you should be worried by such a thing. _I_ don't want to disappoint _you_."

He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her hair as he did. "You could never. We'll get there in the end," he vowed. "I promise I'll try my hardest." He realised the innuendo attached to his comment only when she leaned back and arched an eyebrow. "I mean, my best," he corrected with a leer.

They both laughed and then they were kissing, and her hopes rose from the way their lips met naturally as if they'd been kissing each other like this for years. He claimed practice would make perfect and they'd only practised this three times and it was quite close to perfection.

She was going to whisper him this racy conclusion when another woman's voice interrupted.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Mistletoe Romeo." They separated, startled. Gladys had come up behind them, along with the moon faced barman that Elsie now knew was Septimus Spratt. "It looks like there's life in the old boy, after all."

"I apologise for Ms Denker," Spratt drawled. "I'm afraid her humour is understood by her and her alone."

"Septimus Spratt!" she scolded. "I can think of a few times you've found me amusing," she added brazenly.

Spratt made a 'hmph' noise before turning to Charlie. "Would you like me to wait and make sure you reach the second floor in the lift?"

Charlie puffed out his chest. "No, no. I think I'll tackle the stairs tonight."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gladys smirk as if she knew what the implication of the ascent. Luckily Charlie had turned his full attention to Elsie. "I like to think I can face any challenge with you by my side, Mrs Hughes."

So, his arm brushing against hers with every step, they'd climbed the stairs. He hadn't even needed to pause or rest once to catch his breath.

The Queen Anne seemed much smaller when they arrived. The period furniture and luxurious styling faded into the background until all she could focus upon was the large bed.

Removing her coat and shoes, she turned towards Charlie who also hovered awkwardly.

"Practice makes perfect," she supposed with a crooked smile.

And they certainly had a perfect start to the season. It was just after midnight when they had woken and Charlie had pointed out it was now technically Christmas Day.

"I promised you bling."

"I don't know if I'm the bling type, Charlie."

He rose and wrapped one of the towels which had been folded neatly on the bed when they'd arrived around his waist in one swift action. She wondered, not for the first time, if the acting classes he'd taken in his youth had taught him how to move around with such dexterity or if he was born with an innate ability. For such a large man, he was often graceful.

He switched on one of the desk lamps and rustled around in the corner as he kept talking. "You also told me you were too plain for men to look at, which is complete rubbish."

He turned triumphantly with the two red stockings in his hand, making her snort.

"What's so funny?" he asked in his usual blustery way.

"You," she confessed. "You look so silly. If I took a photo right now I'm sure I could blackmail you for quite some time."

He pursed his lips and dived into the 'C' stocking, ignoring her. Perhaps, she wondered, if she just loosened the end of the towel a little…

"Elsie!" he yelped.

He dropped the stockings and their contents in a heap beside the bed as he tried desperately to catch the falling towel. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed his hands that were flailing around, and held them tightly to the side so she could inspect him properly.

She'd never looked so closely to a man's body before, certainly not his nether-regions. Joe would have thought she'd gone mad if she'd wanted to look. She didn't even touch him much, just a quick stroke and never when they weren't actually performing a sexual act.

"Elsie…" Charlie's tone this time was much more guttural, quite similar to when he'd…

She smiled smugly, remembering. Of course, any superior attitude she might have was crushed when she thought about how many times he'd made her come throughout the night already. The ease with which he'd brought her to orgasm over and over was actually infuriating.

She'd made some stumbling apology the first time.

After removing her shoes and coat, she'd stood before him in her silver dress. He didn't seem to think the way its material clung to her curves made her look too chunky if his sweet scrutiny was anything to go by. His brown eyes darkened as his gaze travelled from her neck down to her stockinged feet and back again.

At an excruciating leisurely pace he bent his head and nipped at her earlobe before placing lingering kisses on her neck while turning her around. After a brief search, his fingers found the dress's hidden zip and lowered it slowly, massaging and kissing her spine as he parted the sleek material.

Once the dress pooled at her feet and she was clad only in her bra, knickers, and stockings, she made to turn to face him again, but his right hand cupped her hip, holding her in place.

"One step at a time, remember," he husked, pressing his bulk against her enticingly before his left hand crept around to cup her breast. He began to toy with the soft material of her bra. It was a plain bone coloured number which, knowing Charlie, probably turned him on more than any flamboyant piece of sexy lingerie. His touch was certainly working wonders for her too.

Her head lolled, giving him full access as his mouth continued to suckle on the delicate skin of her neck. Frustratingly, she could feel the stiffly starched material of his shirt. He needed to remove some clothing too, she pouted silently. She decided to wriggle her bottom around and do some provoking of her own. While doing so she felt the growing evidence of his erection.

"Everything's in working order, it seems," she said in her most businesslike tone.

In retaliation for her teasing he tweaked her nipple. Instantly, it hardened obediently.

Then, far too abruptly, he removed his hand from her breast altogether. He also stopped pressing kisses into her neck.

Panicky, she sobbed his name, her tone so needy already as blindly, desperately, she reached for him.

"It's okay," he rasped near her ear, his other hand soothing her by rhythmically stroking her hip. His thick thigh shimmied under her grip.

Soon he returned his hand to her breast, this time sliding it under the material of her bra and touching her bare skin. His thumb was now slightly damp. He brushed it back and forth across her nipple.

"Heaven help me," she gasped.

Every nerve ending pulsed. His leg became her mainstay and she clung onto it tighter.

The hand on her hip opened wide and moved lower.

Her neck fell forward, limp like a rag doll's, so she could watch. His wide palm lay flat beneath her navel. One of his knees had nudged between her legs. The contrast of her whiter than white thighs was startling compared with the darker band of nylon which was holding up her stockings. She cursed herself for not daring to wear suspenders. He must think her a frump.

"You're beautiful," he contradicted softly as if reading her mind.

She kept watching, mesmerised. Her bottom lip was now clenched so tightly between her teeth she could taste blood. His large masculine hand skimmed along the top of her knickers before reaching inside. A hot flood of moisture rushed to meet his seeking fingers.

His chest rumbled. "And here I thought we might need to purchase some sort of lubricant," he chuckled.

"I'm-"

"If you dare say you're sorry, I'll…" He made a grunting noise. "Well, I'll do something you won't like," he settled on saying with a grumble.

She expelled a snort of laughter and relief at his crazy threat. Her humour didn't last, however, because his fingers had resumed their course and within seconds had zoomed in on their target.

And like that, she came with the force of too many dry years. She moaned his name, her accent stretching it out until it had at least six syllables. Her head slammed back and her eyes shut to reveal a kaleidoscope of colours dancing behind her now tightly closed lids. She floated through the air on a wave and then was drowning, fighting for breath. Her knees buckled and she was falling. Charlie was there though, catching her, pressing against her pubic bone, rubbing it with the base of his palm, prolonging her orgasm.

When she caught her breath finally, she opened her eyes and reality set in. She was semi-naked, their legs were tangled together, one of his hands was inside her bra, the other was down her knickers.

Mortified, she struggled to be free.

"Elsie?" He let his hands drop away and allowed her to turn. Her face was flushed, a mixture of her shame and (still) arousal.

"I'm sorry. It was probably because it's been so long and…"

"Whatever would you be sorry about?"

"You must think that I'm…" She didn't finish that statement. He knew she wasn't some sort of slapper, but surely he wouldn't appreciate her being so…

"I think I'm the luckiest git alive."

Her eyes widened. "Language," she muttered.

"How I've convinced you, the most charming and loveliest woman I know, to be here, like this, with me, I'll never know, but I'll just say a quick prayer of thanks and leave it at that."

Then, with strength and agility belying his age and recent illness he pressed her onto the mattress and manipulated her limbs until she lay prone whilst he undressed. "I think you're very pretty, Elsie Hughes," he promised a few minutes later. "Now, be quiet, lie back-" He pulled the duvet out from under her so that she laid on a cool crisp sheet only- "and think of England. We need to practice some more."

She flushed now with the memory. What sort of soft fool called a woman of her age pretty, for goodness sake.

His age had caught up with them when she'd flicked the towel to the floor earlier. He'd jerked his wrists, trying to free himself without hurting her, but she held tightly even though he was obviously much stronger.

"Elsie," he murmured, his tone deep yet sending a shiver through her body, like the second time she'd come, his head between her legs, his mouth lapping at the physical confirmation of her first orgasm. Joe had always been reluctant to go down on her, but Charlie had dived in, so to speak, with such enthusiasm that she nearly came again now with the thought of it.

She couldn't allow herself be distracted, however. Returning the favour was only fair.

She crawled up onto her knees so she could get a better view.

He was smaller now that he wasn't hard but it was still clear he was much bigger than the norm. "The height size ratio mustn't be a myth," she noted, her tone scientific but still he twitched and made a grumpy noise at the back of his throat.

She didn't have much to compare, of course. Joe, obviously. She had one boyfriend prior to her marriage but, as a mere lass of sixteen, she'd only indulged in a little heavy petting, stopping short of 'going all the way' for fear of pregnancy.

His skin was much darker around his genitals and that excited her more than she cared to admit. There was something erotic about Charlie's olive skin interlaced with her Celtic paleness.

"Elsie, what are you doing?" he groaned as she tilted her head this way and that.

"Just looking." Checking out the goods, the young ones would say.

"It's rather disconcerting!"

"Yes," she replied, vague. Surely one small touch… Letting go of his hands, he relaxed somewhat. While he was lulled into a false sense of security, she reached around so that she could gently squeeze his butt cheeks.

Again, miraculously, he twitched.

He'd been inside her the third time she'd climaxed. He'd been rocking unhurriedly, gently sliding against her clit with each long stroke, kissing her freckles almost absentmindedly when she'd cried out and come with a burst of emotion.

"This is getting a little crazy now," she'd breathed after she'd returned to (almost) normal from that high.

"I'm going to join the new craze for adults. Dot-to-dot." His fingers laid a path for his tongue. "Only I'll use your freckles rather than anything in a book."

She found some trace of strength to slap his chest ineffectually.

The freckle game had given her some time to compose herself and she was ready by the time his gentle strokes became much more assertive. He gradually picked up his pace along with his force until he came, not with a roar as she might have supposed, but with tears in his eyes and a plethora of whispered endearments.

It hadn't been the least bit silly.

But just the once for her poor man.

She felt his fingers thread through her hair which now fell in haphazard waves around her face but he applied no pressure to draw her closer.

She licked her lips at his restraint. Then, slowly she took him into her mouth, tasted his musky maleness. She felt his nails scratch along her scalp as she tightened her lips the smallest amount. Her mouth slid along until she was dangerously close to his coarse pubic hair before returning to the soft tip of his penis. She released him with a popping noise and peered at her quarry analytically. This was much more comfortable while he wasn't fully erect, she realised. He was rather large; she'd have to work up to something more daring in the future.

"Elsie…"

Startled at the way his voice was almost a strangled cry, she looked up. Charlie's eyes were rolled back in his head. His face was bright red and a lather of perspiration.

"Oh! Charlie! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel sick!"

His head snapped and his eyes opened fully. "Are you crazy?" he puffed. "I'm not sick!" He took a deep steadying breath. "I like it. Very much so."

She flushed with pleasure.

"But I'm…older. And was in hospital a few weeks ago. I can't cross everything off my bucket list in one night."

She patted his thigh. "Silly," she mock scolded. "Hop back into bed then and we'll have a cuddle. My knees aren't up to these crazy shenanigans anyway." Yes, she'd have to take the bull by the horns another time, she giggled to herself.

"It's after seven. Do you want to order some breakfast?" Charlie asked now, snapping her out of her reminiscing about the night. "We need to keep our strength up."

"I never thought I'd ever have such crazy conversations with you, Charles Carson."

She'd settled into a comfortable position - her head propped on his expansive torso, one leg looped across his. She brushed the back of her hand across the small sprinkling of hair on his chest. His lack of body hair had been surprising, given the thick thatch on his head and his bushy eyebrows.

"I'm so happy we never did this sooner," he murmured.

"Really?" she snapped.

He kissed her firmly on her pouting mouth. "I just mean meetings could have become quite uncomfortable." His hand came around to massage her breast, almost without conscious thought. "I would have spent my time testing desks for their sturdiness."

"Charlie!" She slapped his chest. "You're crazy," she admonished, letting herself relax again.

He leaned over and switched on the radio. George Michael's Last Christmas was playing.

"More Christmas songs!"

"I loved you last Christmas," he promised.

"Yes," she agreed. It was crazy that they'd taken this long to act on that love, but she now knew for certain it had always existed. "But this Christmas, Charlie… _This_ Christmas has been perfect."

~~The End~~


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